Ethan Lloyd and the Phantom Ship
by Eustace Scrubb
Summary: During the summer after Ethan's 1st year at Kaaterskill Academy of Magic, dark magic is on the rise in North America. Ethan is drawn into a centuries old mystery and finds himself at odds again with the dark wizard Hafgan.
1. Chapter 1: The Other Secretary

Chapter One:

The Other Secretary

It was early evening and the President was sitting alone in the Oval Office, trying unsuccessfully to finish reading a lengthy report. The report had been submitted by a task force he had appointed some years earlier to study an issue that had been of great interest to the public at the time. By the time the task force had finished its work, its mission seemed irrelevant, the issue pushed off the front pages by more current concerns.

The President was about to call the Prime Minister of a far away country, an ally of long standing. In fact, he would already have called the Prime Minister, but for an unexpected visit from the leaders of his party in the Congress.

When his visitors had left, the President had thought he could quickly skim the task force report so as to be prepared for its release at a press conference the next day.

He now thoroughly regretted that decision, for he'd been unable to focus on the report. Instead, he'd worried about the spate of recent crises across the country and he'd wondered how the Prime Minister would react to several new policy initiatives that involved both countries. Now the more he tried to concentrate on the printed page before him, the more clearly he could see the face of his opponent in the coming election and hear him enumerating the several recent disasters that had occurred on the President's watch.

The President resented the implication that his administration was to blame for these problems. Certainly the government could not have prevented the freak floods that had left several towns in the southwestern desert under water. Nor was it fair to charge him with negligence when that poor woman had been murdered just outside the White House grounds last week. And the terrible train wreck that had released toxic gas over a Midwestern city had been due to the engineer's error, not a government mistake.

Nevertheless the President's opponent had appeared on all the weekend talk shows, telling the pundits with evident glee that the nation had fallen into a "deep _malaise_" under the current administration.

_Malaise indeed_! The President fumed to himself. The recent weather could have created a national mood of depression all by itself. He looked out the grand windows of his office at another evening of foggy drizzle. Normally July was sunny, hot and humid in the capital, but it had been cold and damp for nearly three weeks now. The weathermen were comparing it to 1816, which they called the "Year without Summer."

This was not the sort of stage on which the President wished to begin his reelection bid, but with the convention only a few weeks away, there was nothing to be done. He'd just have to smile and exude his well-known aura of confidence to get through it. The President sighed. He'd found it much more difficult to smile or feel confident lately, though he couldn't put his finger on the reason.

Finally he decided to give up trying to read the report altogether. He couldn't keep the Prime Minister waiting any longer, no matter how likely it was that he'd now have to hear just how terrible things were going for his ally as well.

As the President reached for the phone, he heard someone clear his throat nearby. "Hem! Hem!"

The President put the phone down and looked up. He was quite sure he knew what that sound meant, but he surveyed the room in the forlorn hope that he was wrong, that perhaps his Chief of Staff had returned to remind him of an appointment or a point he needed to make to the Prime Minister.

But he was still quite alone. He'd been afraid that was true. He stood up and walked toward the center of the room.

"Hem! Hem!" came the sound again. This time it was clear that it came from an old portrait on the far wall of the office. A tall, somewhat angular man dressed in the customary costume of two centuries earlier was looking out from the portrait at the President with a mournful countenance.

"Greetings to the President of Muggles from Ernest Dithers, Secretary of Magic! The Secretary requests an urgent consultation with the President. Kindly respond at once!"

The President shook his head, both weary and annoyed.

"I'm afraid I don't have any time at present," he said shortly. "I was just calling the Prime Minister of ..."

"The Prime Minister is not available to take your call," the sad-looking man in the portrait intoned.

The President had feared such a response, but he was unwilling to give up just yet.

"Now look here, we've both gone to great trouble to clear our schedules for this call," he said irritably.

"The Prime Minister has just begun a very important meeting," said the portrait. "He now expects you to call him tomorrow night. Please respond immediately to Mr. Dithers."

"Very well, then," the President relented. "I'll see Dithers."

The President walked reluctantly back to his desk and sat down. He straightened his tie and practiced his smile in an attempt to look more Presidential than he felt just now.

He'd barely gotten the corners of his mouth turned up into the sincere smile of his public persona when a sudden _whoosh_ came from the fireplace. A bright cloud of green smoke and flame shot down the chimney. Spinning out of the center of the cloud there appeared a square-jawed, jowly man with thinning gray hair, dressed in an absurd plaid cloak and a beaver-felt top hat.

The man stepped out of the fireplace and brushed ashes off his shoulders all over the fine oriental carpet.

He strode towards the desk. The President thought the man's face more careworn than it had been the last time they'd met; then again, the same could have been said of the President.

"Good to see you again, Mr. President!" Ernest Dithers said, pasting a smile onto his face, sweeping off his top hat and stretching out his right hand toward the President.

The President shook Dithers' hand firmly but briefly; as he could not honestly say he was glad to see the Secretary of Magic, he hesitated.

"Yes, well it hasn't been the best of weeks," he said before the pause became embarrassingly long. "So if you don't mind..."

"I quite agree! Terrible week indeed!" Dithers exclaimed before the President could finish. "Unprecedented, I do believe!"

Taken aback, the President asked, "Things not going well for you, either?"

"Well of course not, my good man!" Dithers responded. "I've been having the same sort of week as you...in fact, exactly the same week, to all intents and purposes!"

"I'm not sure I follow you," the President said, but at the same time the shadow of a horrendous realization was forming in his mind.

"Of course you do!" Dithers said impatiently. "The Manzanita flood, the Toledo derailment, the Morrigan murder and...something else, it will come back to me in a moment."

"At least I trust that none of your aides has been going for late night swims in the Reflecting Pool?" the President inquired.

"Ah, that's it of course! Wilbert Dooley!" Dithers exclaimed.

Nonplussed, the President asked, "Do you mean to say that your kind, I mean your people, were involved in some way?"

"Well, of course!" Dithers said grimly. "Haven't you figured out what's going on? I thought _you_ might have called me in by now!"

The President seethed inside. As the leader of the free world, he wasn't accustomed to being lectured like a slow schoolboy. Furthermore, he couldn't imagine any circumstance in which he would willingly summon this strange man to the White House.

The President thought back to a chilly January afternoon over three years previous, when he'd first sat alone in this office during a quiet moment between the inauguration and the celebratory balls. He'd been looking out over the snowy lawns, savoring his victory against long odds one last time before the real work of governing began.

Then he'd heard that "Hem! Hem!" for the first time. He'd turned around, but seeing no one had turned back to the window. The sound had come again and he'd been sure that it had come from that old portrait the First Lady had already decided to send back to the Smithsonian.

He must have imagined it, he thought to himself. He'd been working too hard on the transition. But then the lank, long-nosed man in the portrait looked straight at the President and declared, "Congratulations to the President from the Secretary of Magic, who will be arriving momentarily to introduce himself!"

What sort of practical joke was this? The President wondered.

Within a minute, green flames flared up in the hearth and Ernest Dithers materialized before the President for the first time.

The President's first thought was to summon the Secret Service to arrest this odd man who claimed to be a wizard and the Secretary of a department that did not appear on any of the President's transition charts. But he found that he simply couldn't do it.

Dithers had explained that there were witches and wizards living all over America, but that they concealed themselves so as to avoid any "issues" with the non-magical population. He told the President not to worry himself about this, as the Department of Magic had numerous offices, regulations and monitors whose job it was to ensure that the two communities coexisted in such a way that the non-magical folks had no idea the magical community existed.

The President's jaw dropped further with each of Dithers' reassuring statements.

"You'll never know we're here, most of the time," Dithers said airily. "You may never see me again. But we do think it wise to let you know about us at the start, just in case."

"Just in case of what?" The President managed to ask as he pinched himself again to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Ah, well, you know," Dithers said, shifting his top hat from one hand to the other. "Every now and then, there's some little accident that affects the muggle-I mean, non-magical-population in some way. Very rare, I assure you. We've all sorts of safeguards against it."

Changing the subject, Dithers said, "You know, you're taking this much more calmly than that fellow you've just sent packing! He was sure I was a hoax, planned by his predecessor's wife!"

"So, you're for real, then?" the President asked, his last hope fading.

"Quite real, I assure you," Dithers said with a smile. And with that, the Secretary pulled a wand out of his pocket, pointed it at the water glass on the desk and turned it into a white rat with a long tail.

The President gripped the side of his desk for support.

"Why haven't any former Presidents told me about this?" he asked plaintively. "There's nothing in any of the white papers, either."

"Now really, Mr. President," Dithers said, chortling. "Are _you_ going to tell anybody about me?"

Then he walked back to the fireplace.

"Well, goodbye now," he said. "If all goes well, I may not be back during your term!"

With that he tossed some powder into the fireplace. The green flames reappeared. Dithers stepped into them and vanished, spinning into nothingness.

The new President sat down and wiped his brow. He knew in his heart that he would never breathe a word of this to anyone, even his wife...especially his wife, now that he thought about it.

He resolved to pretend that the visit had never occurred, although the white rat on his desk made that difficult at first. But he was able to give the creature to his press secretary's seven-year old son, who was delighted to take it away to his home in the suburbs.

Alas, the First Lady's plan to remove the annoying painting came to naught. The Curator of the White House was unaccountably unable to remove it from the wall.

"Doesn't even have security screws," he said, mystified. He called in the Smithsonian's curators, the Secret Service and the White House housekeepers and janitors, but no one could get it to budge.

The President even had the CIA director investigate whether it was a bug left over from the Cold War. But the investigation proved negative.

"It must be one of ours," the CIA director told the President.

With that, the President gave up trying and instead carefully avoided looking at that part of the office. Even so, out of the corner of his eye he sometimes glimpsed the long-shanked colonial stretching or yawning. One morning, when the President arrived in the office early to prepare for an important cabinet meeting, he couldn't help but notice that the man in the portrait was absent from the canvas. A few minutes there was a scuffling noise as he rushed back into the scene, straightening his hair and looking embarrassed. The President steadfastly refused to investigate any of these incidents further.

But Ernest Dithers had not reappeared and for that the President was thankful. A year passed, then two. There were many other matters on the President's mind; he allowed that bizarre meeting on Inauguration Day to fade into the depths of his memory.

Then one fine early summer evening two years ago this pleasant forgetfulness was shattered. As the President sat contemplating the difficulties of getting a health care bill passed with mid-term elections due, he heard the portrait clearing its throat and announcing gloomily the Secretary of Magic's impending arrival. Before the President had even had a chance to assure himself he was hallucinating, Ernest Dithers arrived in a ball of green flame.

The "other Secretary," as the President came to call him, looked a bit more corpulent and considerably more annoyed than on his first visit.

"Good evening, Mr. President," he'd said briskly as he set the beaver top hat down on the desk. "Sorry to bother you. I know you've enough troubles with the Congress, but I do need to touch base."

"Oh, yes?" the President asked, trying to remember what Dithers had said about likely reasons for visits. "Some problem involving...us?"

"Well probably not, at least not directly," Dithers replied. "You see the British Ministry of Magic has been looking for an escapee from their prison for the last year and Fudge-Cornelius Fudge, he's their Minister of Magic-seems to think there's some possibility he's fled the country on a hippogriff and he..."

"Fled on a what?" the President inquired, trying to appear unruffled.

"A hippogriff, you know, head of an eagle, body of a horse, great wingspan," Dithers began, stretching his arms out wide. "That's why Fudge alerted us, since the hippogriff can travel great distances. But they can only be tamed by experts and there's no evidence that Sirius Black-this prisoner-would be able to do it."

"So you've got your own prisons, do you?" the President said, working hard to appear unsurprised by what Dithers had just told him. "Maybe I should find out more, our system's full of problems. Then again, if you have a lot of escapes..."

"No, no, this is the first time anyone's made it out of Azkaban," Dithers said. "Frankly, I don't know how he could manage it, miles out in the ocean with the dementors guarding that place."

"Demented guards?"

"Dementors. Nasty beings," Dithers shuddered. "Feed on human happiness, leaving the prisoners with only their worst memories. No wonder most of them go mad. But then, that's the other reason Fudge notified us. Black was already mad when they put him away, killed a streetful of muggles just to get one wizard. Never know what he might be capable of. And they tell us he was You-Know-Who's right hand man."

"So that's why you're telling me, then," the President said. "This man's killed normal...er, I mean, non-magical people. You'll be able to send some of these dementors after him if he's made it over here?"

"Well, no, we don't use 'em at Autongaman, that's our prison," Dithers said. "We have other ways of controlling prisoners. But I'm sure Black's nowhere near the United States anyway. Nothing to get excited about..."

"Very well, I won't get excited," the President said. "Now whose right hand man did you say this Black was?"

"Oh, that's ancient history now," Dithers said, a false note of assurance in his voice. "He worked for a wizard named...well, he was the darkest wizard of the century."

As he said this, Dithers grabbed a pen from the President's desk and scribbled a name down on a note pad and shoved the pad into the President's hand.

"So you think this wizard," the President said, looking at the pad. "This Volde-"

"Don't say his name," Dithers snarled. "Why do you think I wrote it down? He's been gone for more than a dozen years now. No need to worry about him, Fudge assures me. Anyway, I've taken enough of your time. As I said, regulations said we're to pass on information in such cases. I doubt you'll hear any more about it. Goodbye, now!"

With that Dithers practically hurled the powder into the fireplace. It exploded into green flames into which the Secretary disappeared almost immediately, leaving the President quite mystified. Wizard prisons, eagle horses, mad wizards, creatures that sucked the happiness out of life-it was too much to take in.

So the President went back to work on health care. The prospects weren't all that bright, but it seemed manageable compared to worries about unseen magical threats.

And indeed the next several months did not go well for the President. Not only did the health care initiative founder, the mid-term elections turned the President's party out of power in the Congress.

Thus he found it easy to forget about Ernest Dithers and the existence of witches and wizards again. The President rather relished being an underdog and he put all his energy into fighting battles with the new Congress.

Over a year later, he'd had another brief but unpleasant reminder that the world of magic existed. Dithers had simply appeared out of thin air in the Oval Office late on a winter evening, out of breath and looking fit to be tied.

"Hello, Mr. President! Sorry to bother you without notice, but I've had some news I _must_ share with you," the Other Secretary had said after the briefest of handshakes.

"Why, what is it?" asked the President, trying to recall details of his previous visits from Dithers from the depths of his memory. "Madmen on flying horses again?"

"No, not exactly," the Secretary said, unamused. "But the British ministry has reported a mass escape from Azkaban!"

"A mass escape?" the President repeated. "From...that's the British prison, isn't it?

"Yes, you've been paying attention, I see!" Dithers replied.

"But you said that nobody had ever escaped before that Cyrus, erm, Serious fellow last year," the President said, raising an eyebrow. "They must be slipping, eh?"

"I really don't know _what_ Fudge thinks he's doing!" Dithers said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "Still, they're not likely to head this way-they were all followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back in the bad old days. If they think You-Know-Who's still around, they'll be heading to Albania or some such place-there were rumors years ago that he might have been there."

"But you said that He...Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone," the President recalled, drawn into this discussion despite himself. "I thought you meant he was dead."

"Well, we all hoped he was, of course," Dithers said wistfully. "And Hafgan disappeared at the same time and we've had no sign of him in fifteen years either. Fudge insists that anyone who claims You-Know-Who is back is deluded and he's probably right. But some of our intelligence people say that Harry Potter was abducted by You-Know-Who after the Triwizard Tournament last spring but managed to fight him off and escape. And he _was_ the one who defeated You-Know-Who the last time after all, when he was just a baby..."

The President's brain was dangerously close to overload again-wizard spies, abductions, a Triwizard Tournament, fighting infants. All he managed to say was "Hafgan?"

"Oh, yes, he was You-Know-Who's main follower over here...never really had much more than a foothold. Our aurors squelched his lot pretty well at Table Mountain and rounded up the rest after You-Know-Who went."

The President lapsed into confused silence. Dithers looked at him sharply, and then changed his tone.

"Well, as I said, I had to let you know about the escapes-it's all down in international wizarding law, you know. But I'd say you won't have to worry about it at all. The dementors should round them up quickly."

"Oh, did they find that other fellow-the mad man?" the President managed to ask.

"You mean Sirius Black?" Dithers answered. "No, apparently not! I've been assured that they're still working on it and that he's not in our neck of the woods. That's all I can say for now. Good night, now!"

With that, Dithers vanished just as quickly as he'd appeared.

Now the President had his faults, but he was a keen student of politics and politicians. Despite Dithers' assurances at their first meeting, the President had now seen enough of the Secretary to recognize him as a fellow traveler. He'd also realized that Dithers only showed up in the Oval Office with bad news; indeed, the news each visit had been worse than the last. Furthermore, the President recognized that Dithers had always attempted to put the best possible spin on the situation, a tendency the President was rather fond of himself.

But on this July evening of an election year, Dithers had dropped the pretense that all was well. The President knew that this had to be a sign of a true crisis.

As he tended naturally to empathize with those in trouble, the President might have commiserated with Dithers under normal circumstances. But the Secretary's clear implication that the country's current woes were connected to wizardry had made him furious. Dithers' tone of condescension offended him further.

"Well out with it then!" he demanded. "Tell me how you've managed to give me floods, train wrecks, murders and nervous breakdowns all in the same week!"

"It's not me!" Dithers said, wringing his hands. "It's all Fudge's fault! I'll never trust the British again!"

"What do you mean, Fudge's fault?"

"He gave me his personal assurance this could not happen! But it has. It's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He's back!"

The President thought hard for a moment.

"You mean the one you said was the darkest wizard this century?"

"The same," Dithers said with a shiver.

"Well, he must be positively superhuman if he can cause floods in rivers that have been dry for hundreds of years," the President said skeptically.

"Well Fudge tells me there's not much human left in him, not that he did a very good job of explaining what he meant by that," Dithers said. "But it's his allies, Mr. President, that I worry about."

"Allies? You mean like that Black fellow?"

"Heavens, no!" Dithers exclaimed. "Black's dead anyway, murdered right in the Ministry of Magic in London. And it turned out he was wrongfully convicted in the first place. No, I mean giants, dementors, trolls of various sorts. Hopefully he won't manage to involve flying heads!"

This explanation rendered the President speechless for a long moment.

"Gi-giants?" he finally whispered, opening the lower drawer of his desk and drawing out a bottle of bourbon that he kept for especially stressful moments.

The President took out two glasses and gestured at the bottle. Dithers nodded affirmatively, and then spoke again.

"Yes, we suspect they're responsible for redirecting the water flow out west. That was no earthquake, you know!"

The President nearly spilled the contents of the glass that he was handing to Dithers. They drained their glasses quickly.

"Hmm, not firewhiskey but not bad!" Dithers said approvingly. "Now let's see, where was I?"

"I suppose a troll derailed the train in Toledo?" the President asked as he refilled their glasses.

"No, that was probably a windigo. We sent dozens of memory modifiers to the area just after the incident and that was their conclusion," Dithers said. "But the worst part was losing Elvira Morrigan, my Deputy Secretary for Magical Law Enforcement."

"But that happened just down the street," the President remarked. "It was all over our papers. They just said she was a middle-aged single mother, a victim of a random street attack."

"Oh, there was nothing random about that murder," Dithers said grimly. "Elvira was targeted by Death Eaters and ambushed on the way to a meeting with the British liaison for international wizarding crime. She put up quite a fight, but there were too many of them. It's a terrible loss!"

"Death Eaters?" the President asked as he finished his second glass of bourbon.

"That's what You-Know-Who calls his followers," Dithers explained, downing his own glass.

"So they're foreign terrorists?" the President asked. "Can't you demand that Fudge control them? Where are his dementors?"

Dithers' face darkened.

"The dementors have gone over to You-Know-Who. They've left Azkaban and it's clear that a fair number of them have migrated to the States. That's why the weather's so odd...this mist means they're probably breeding."

"Well what is Fudge doing about this?" The President demanded.

"It's not up to him. He's been forced to resign. They've named old Rufus Scrimgeour as Minister of Magic. He has a background in law enforcement. A good choice, in my opinion."

"So will this new man be able to apprehend Lord V-oh, alright, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" asked the President.

"I'm sure Scrimgeour's making every effort to do just that," Dithers said, quailing at the thought. "Not that it'll be easy. Better him than you or me!"

Dithers held out his glass and the President filled it once again.

"Oh, yes, that reminds me!" Dithers continued. "Wilbert Dooley!"

"I'm giving him a long leave of absence," the President said. "Send him back to Missouri 'til after the election, play golf, barbecue, get back in touch with the family."

"That would _not_ be wise," Dithers interrupted. "We believe he's been tampered with by the other side."

"Oh, come now, he's just stressed out from four years in Washington," the President said incredulously.

"Well, we think it's more than that," Dithers insisted. "Probably an Imperius curse cast by someone who's not very careful. He was examined by a team of forensic healers from the Bureau of Magical Investigation at the Reflecting Pool that night and he tried to drown three of them. I wouldn't trust him around his family _or_ around you."

"He'll be all right, though?" the President asked, looking shocked.

"We'll see," Dithers answered doubtfully. "I've instructed the BMI to place him in the secure ward at MagiClinic South in Atlanta. If anyone can sort him out, they can. And we'll be keeping rather a closer eye on you given the state of things."

"The Secret Service does a fine job of that, thank you very much," the President bristled, annoyed at the thought of Dithers or some team of wizards dropping in on him on any regular basis.

"Well, they don't have much experience with dark wizards, so I've arranged to have some Aurors added to their ranks. We'd all be in a fine pickle if the leader of the free world was Imperioed by one of You-Know-Who's henchmen, wouldn't we?" Dithers said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry, you won't notice anything different from normal. Well, I really must be going. I have to get back to hear the BMI's latest progress report."

It had finally dawned on the President that his own fortunes in this election year might rest with this odd man with the propensity for appearing with bad news at the most inconvenient times. This thought frustrated and infuriated the President.

"Now look, Dithers, you've got to round up all these...these creatures, all of them-and soon! You _can_ do that, can't you?"

"The BMI's working around the clock on it," Dithers said. "I'm told that they've already got several promising leads on the giants. And the windigo's probably back up north by now...there was that mining accident up in northern Ontario yesterday."

The President had too much experience listening to the false confidence of bureaucrats to find Dithers' assurances very convincing. His heart sank when he thought about the effect of further disasters on the electorate. The possibility that dementors were roaming the country sucking the optimism out of the voters depressed him further.

"I expect you to clean up this mess pronto," he enjoined Dithers, but a tone of desperation had crept into his voice. "It should be _easy_! You can use _magic_ after all!"

As Dithers stepped back towards the fireplace, he gave the President a rueful smile.

"Ah, yes, but don't you see," he said sadly. "The bad guys use magic too. Good day to you, Mr. President and good luck!"

At that Ernest Dithers bowed, top hat in hand, tossed powder into the fireplace and disappeared into the roaring green flames.


	2. Chapter 2: Summer's Discontents

Chapter Two:

Summer's Discontents

The afternoon sun struggled to penetrate the clouds that hung over the backyards of Madison's west side. The unseasonable chill on this July day had kept many of the residents inside the trim bungalows that spread from both banks of the sleepy Yahara River.

In the park next to the river's outlet to Lake Monona, a small, leather-covered ball sailed through the air in a shallow arc. With a sharp smack, its flight ended in the webbing of a baseball glove. A bespectacled boy with unkempt blonde hair and a sharp chin picked the ball out of the glove with his right hand, cocked his arm back and propelled the ball back in the direction from which it had come.

About sixty feet away, a taller boy with curly black hair waited for the throw. This boy looked as if he was growing too fast for his clothes to keep up. He watched the ball approaching, ran quickly to his left, jumped into the air and caught the ball.

"Geez, Lloyd, I can tell you didn't play ball this spring," the taller boy said as he threw the ball back on a line to his companion.

"Luckily, you're growing so fast I can't really miss you, Pete," the blonde boy called back, laughing. "Hey, why don't we head back in? I don't think it's ever going to warm up out here!"

"OK, Ethan," Pete called back. "But as soon as it does warm up we're gonna have to get back out here and get you into shape."

So the two of them shouldered their equipment and ambled out of the park towards their homes, which stood next to each other just a few blocks away.

The two boys had grown up together in this neighborhood. Pete Abrams had turned 12 in June and Ethan Lloyd had caught up to him just two days ago. Ethan and Pete had done most everything together--climbed trees, pretended to be superheroes, gone to school, played Little League--until Ethan's 11th birthday. That was when Ethan discovered that he was a wizard--a discovery that he could not share with his best friend. Pete did know that Ethan had gone away to boarding school out East, but he didn't know that the school was called Kaaterskill Academy of Magic. And Pete could not have known that Ethan and his schoolmates played neither baseball nor any other familiar sport, but quidditch, a game played on flying brooms with three types of balls. Moreover, Ethan couldn't tell his friends that he had barely escaped with his life while preventing a powerful talisman from falling into the hands of Hafgan, the most feared wizard in North America.

Now Ethan was home for summer vacation. In some ways, resuming his old routines was easy. Everyone was glad to see him, especially his parents and his three closest friends, Pete, Justin and Ryan. Mungo, the Lloyds' ancient cat, who had managed to reach the quite respectable age of 15, seemed to enjoy sleeping on the end of Ethan's bed now. There were movies to see, Black Wolf baseball games to attend, frozen custard and bratwurst to eat.

Yet Ethan had found it difficult to settle back down to life in Madison. For one thing, he'd packed his wand and all his school books away in his trunk, because young wizards weren't allowed to do magic away from school. True, some of his teachers had given him summer reading assignments. Professor Tiverton, Ethan's least favorite teacher, had even assigned a lengthy essay comparing and contrasting transfigured and conjured objects. His parents--a wizard and a witch--would only let him do school work early in the morning and late at night, when his muggle friends weren't around.

And although Ethan truly enjoyed being with his old friends again, inside he felt very different from them. They'd had a whole year together at O'Keefe Middle School, with lots of shared experiences. Ethan, on the other hand, had to be very careful what he told the others about school. Much of what he'd seen and done over the past school year was simply unbelievable.

Ethan also worried that he'd do magic by accident, even without his wand. He'd done this several times when he was younger, without realizing it. He and Pete had even escaped the neighborhood bullies once through his magic, but neither of them recognized their good fortune for what it really was.

As the two boys reached their block, they parted and headed to their respective bungalows.

"See ya later, Ethan," Pete said.

"Later!" Ethan responded as he headed up the stairs to the Lloyds' front door.

"Oh hi, Ethan!" his mom greeted him as he entered the living room, where he'd finally learned that he was a wizard the previous summer. Diana Lloyd gave her son a quick kiss on the cheek. "I see the park was pretty messy! Take off those muddy shoes, would you? Oh, and you've got a few days' worth of the _Sentinel_ over there."

She motioned to the coffee table on the other side of the room.

"Great!" Ethan exclaimed. "Thanks, mom!"

He kicked off his sneakers at the door, then went to the kitchen, quickly poured a soda and returned to the living room. He flopped down on the couch and grabbed the stack of newspapers.

Ethan was thankful that he could send Bucky, his owl, with letters to his Kaaterskill friends Tim Van der Meulen, who lived on a farm in Saskatchewan, and Anne Findlay, who lived with her family on a small island off the coast of Maine. He could commiserate with Tim, who was the first wizard in his family, about the nuisances of life in the muggle world. Anne came from a large and thoroughly magical family, so she had little understanding of the dozens of minor frustrations Ethan and Tim experienced at home. But her family took the _Daily Sentinel_, so she could keep Ethan aware of the latest news in the magical world. Soon after the end of the spring term, Anne had begun sending Ethan copies of the wizarding newspaper when her parents had finished with them.

The biggest news had come from the other side of the ocean. For the British Ministry of Magic and the _Daily Prophet_, a British wizarding paper, had admitted that Lord Voldemort had returned. For the previous year, both the American and British magical governments and the newspapers had denied the very possibility of the Dark Lord's return. But according to the breathless reports of the _Prophet_ and the _Sentinel_, the most powerful dark wizard of the century had been seen by numerous witnesses in the British Ministry of Magic itself. Only through the timely intervention of another most powerful wizard, Albus Dumbledore, had Voldemort been repelled.

Naturally this admission had caused uproar throughout the wizarding world. For one thing, Dumbledore and his allies had managed to capture a number of very respectable wizards left behind when Voldemort fled the British ministry. Many were shocked to find members of the best wizarding families in Britain had been amongst Voldemort's followers.

As Ethan scanned the most recent _Sentinel_, he saw that the front page trumpeted alarming news, as it had nearly every day recently. This time, the British Minister of Magic had admitted that the dementors--foul creatures who drained hope and joy out of any humans in their vicinity--had abandoned their duties as guards of the Azkaban prison shortly after Voldemort had been sighted.

Ethan had heard about the dementors at school the previous year. What he'd heard was bad enough, but his parents' reaction to this bit of news disturbed him.

His mother went pale as a sheet when Ethan relayed the story to her. Diana Lloyd said nothing but stood wringing her hands, apparently fearful in a way Ethan had never seen before.

When he repeated the story to his father that evening after dinner, Griffin's jaw clenched, his expression stony.

"Dad, I know this isn't good, but how bad can it be? You and Mom are both acting as if there'll be dementors at the door tomorrow."

"You don't understand, Ethan. I'm sorry to say it, but it's true," Griffin said. "Dementors are amongst the foulest creatures in our world. They've been diverted from roaming the world these many years because they've been stuck out at Azkaban. Now they're free to go where they wish, they can feed on whomever they please--muggles, wizards, it makes little difference to a dementor. Muggles can't see them, they just blame the weather or their diet or stress from their work."

Ethan nearly burst out in anger, not at what his father had said but at the way he had said it. Ever since he'd come home, Ethan had felt a growing resentment towards his parents. After his school experiences and his narrow escape from Hafgan, Ethan felt he deserved to be treated less as a child and more as a colleague in the struggle with dark wizards.

For the present, however, Ethan managed to stifle his discontent and ask, "But how many are there? They won't come over here, will they?"

"I'm not sure of their numbers. And they may find plenty of victims in Europe. But one never knows," Griffin said darkly. "We've never had to test our defenses against them. Not all magical beings can be stopped in the same way."

Ethan shivered as he looked out the living room window. The evening sun cast an eerie, pale yellow light through the persistent mist. Then he sat down to watch the muggle news on television. This family ritual, he now knew, stemmed from his parents' need to fit in with the muggle population of Madison. Ethan had become used to the happy talk of the news "team" as they managed to smile through the worst disasters.

But tonight, and for some days in fact, the broadcasters had seemed unusually grim.

"In national news, the cleanup continues in Toledo in the wake of the toxic train wreck," the anchor announced. "Locally, river levels continue to rise throughout southern Wisconsin due to record rains."

"In sports, the Black Wolf and Brewers both rained out again," the sportscaster added.

"And in the weather, drab drippiness continues to prevail," said the meteorologist. "We'll talk to experts about the unusual pattern of weather coming from the east."

The Lloyds watched most of the half-hour listlessly. But when the weatherman returned, Griffin perked up a bit.

"I'm afraid no one really understands it," the expert said. "Weather in our hemisphere goes from west to east. Always has. The laws of physics and geography dictate the pattern. But for the last few weeks, we've watched as the rain and mist have moved from Maine to New York and on to the Midwest. Some environmentalists claim this proves that global warming is a reality, but the data seems contradictory."

"You seem a bit depressed by all this," the anchor said to weatherman, attempting a bit of banter.

"Well of course," his dispirited colleague replied. "It makes no sense. You know, you don't seem too chipper yourself!"

The program mercifully ended a few minutes later and Ethan's mother turned off the television.

Griffin remained seated in his armchair, resting his chin on his hands and looking off into space. He sighed deeply.

Diana Lloyd cast a concerned look at her husband.

"What is it, dear?" she asked at last.

"I'm not certain, Diana," he said. "It may be nothing at all. Still..."

He shot a glance at Ethan, who was observing both his parents closely.

"We can talk about it later, then," Diana said. "Ethan, did you want to work on your essay tonight?"

"No, I want to hear what's on Dad's mind," Ethan said restively. "If he thinks I can understand it."

"Ethan, that's not what I meant," his father said, a strained look on his face. "I just don't want to speculate..."

"About whether Voldemort's sending dementors to swarm over Madison?" Ethan interrupted. "Not sure how poor little Ethan might react?"

"Ethan, don't talk to your father that way!" Diana exclaimed. "He's just concerned about how you might take it; you're bright, you've got talent, but you don't have much experience with..."

"Not much experience with dark wizards?" Ethan asked incredulously. "Hmmm, let' see...so I guess that wasn't Hafgan who ransacked my compartment on the train last fall, was it? And it wasn't Hafgan who was stalking me in Spook Woods this spring? And I guess getting thrown into Professor Skryme's painting and nearly getting killed was just a little extracurricular activity?"

"Neither of us is saying you haven't been through a lot for someone your age, Ethan!" Griffin answered. "To be honest, your first year at Kaaterskill nearly matched our worst fears. That's why I think we should spare you our guesses, our fears, when we've no real facts to back them up!"

"You didn't really want me to go to Kaaterskill in the first place, did you?" Ethan said, unmoved by his father's explanation. "Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy had to talk you into telling me about my letter, didn't they? You just hoped I could go along living with muggles, ignoring the magic that's in me, keeping me totally in the dark!"

Griffin and Diana exchanged a pained look. Ethan had never told them he'd overheard their conversation with his uncle and aunt on the night of his eleventh birthday.

"Well, guess what?" Ethan continued, pouring out the frustrations that had built up inside him over the past few weeks. "I'm glad I went! It was the right thing to do, even if it did nearly kill me! And I may not understand everything you talk about, but I'm not an ignorant little boy anymore! But for right now, go ahead and talk about whatever you like--I'm going out for a walk!"

"Son, I don't really think it's wise," Griffin began, but Ethan had already reached the front door, opened it and headed down the sidewalk.

He walked quickly, still fuming inside, half amazed that he'd walked out on his parents. He felt the cool of the evening mist and shivered a little. The sun still glowered near the western horizon, casting a dim light over the east side neighborhood.

Ethan strode over the footbridge that led toward his old elementary school, then turned right and walked along the river to Willy Street. Instead of heading downtown, he walked east through a little shopping district until he reached the bike path that paralleled the railroad tracks. He walked up the path, lost in confused and angry thought.

No one else was out walking or biking on this gloomy evening. Ethan passed the botanical gardens, the old beet sugar plant and the frozen custard stand, finally reaching the path's end on a busy cross-neighborhood street.

How long had he been walking? Ethan really didn't know. He'd made it to this point many times on his bike but never on foot. The sun was nearly down.

_I'd better head back_, he thought to himself, although he realized he'd be in hot water as soon as he got home.

So he turned around and began to retrace his steps. As he passed through a grove of trees near the botanical gardens he thought he heard footsteps behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed no one. He kept walking, but every so often he heard footsteps. This section of the path was secluded and quiet--_Lonely_, Ethan thought. _Not the best place to be caught alone_.

Ethan looked around again quickly to see whether he could tell who had been following him. He could still see no one in the gathering dusk. He wished he'd had his wand with him, even though he knew he wasn't allowed to do magic out of school, amongst Muggles.

Could Hafgan have sent someone to stalk him? Ethan did not know exactly how safe he and his parents were in Madison, though he had been told that strong enchantments made it nearly impossible for other magic folk to find them. Was there some common muggle criminal looking for an easy target on this summer night? Or was Ethan dreaming the footsteps he'd heard behind him?

Ethan noticed that the path turned sharply about thirty feet back. Whoever it was could have stopped just around that turn to avoid being seen, he thought.

Ethan next did something he knew was foolish. But he wanted to know that someone was really there, that he wasn't imagining being followed. Without hesitation, he turned and ran back swiftly to the bend in the path. As he went around the corner, Ethan saw someone standing at the side of the path, under an overhanging bush.

Without thought, without really looking at the figure, Ethan made to tackle the person. Whoever it was had not expected this at all. Despite Ethan's slight stature and strength, he easily pushed the surprised stalker down to the ground. They landed together in the weedy grass on the side of the path.

There was a pause, Ethan and the other person both trying to catch their breath. Ethan tried to keep the other's arms pinned.

Gasping, the figure on the ground beneath Ethan asked, "Geez, Ethan, what did you do that for?"

Startled to hear his name, Ethan finally focused on the face beneath him. It belonged to a boy a bit younger than Ethan, a pale boy with curly brown hair that had been allowed to grow rather long, a boy with hazel eyes that just now seemed wide and fearful.

"Alec?" Ethan asked, relaxing his grip.

"Yeah," Alec Evans replied, raising himself up partially to lean on his elbows while wiping dirt and grass from his face.

"Sorry, I didn't know it was...," Ethan began to apologize, but stopped. Ever since vacation had begun, Alec and his friends had been hanging around Ethan and Pete, as if the older boys were their protectors. Now Alec was following him around like some sort of spy. He and Pete had been mildly amused by their entourage, but now Ethan was annoyed.

"Hang on," he continued. "What do you want from me, Alec? Why can't you leave me alone--you and your friends? If you think I have some kind of magic power to protect you from your enemies, well think again. 'Cause I've had it with you and your buddies shadowing me all the time!"

"I'm really sorry, Ethan," Alec said sheepishly. "That's how it started; I mean you're the only one who ever escaped from Erik's gang. But I need to talk to you alone and it's not been easy. I mean, you've only been back a little while and you're always with Pete or your other friends, and I can't ever seem to get away from mine. When I saw you run out of your house tonight, I just had to follow you."

Ethan looked at the younger boy skeptically. "So why do you want to talk to me alone?"

"Well, it's...I mean...I've wondered a long time, but especially after that night at the ball park last summer. And a month ago, right after my birthday, a rather odd man brought me a letter saying I'd been admitted to a school out East...and I overheard Pete and Justin talking about you and they mentioned the name of your school was Kaaterskill. And that's the name on my letter!"

Ethan looked at Alec dumbly, slowly comprehending the younger boy's words.

"You mean you're...?" he began to ask.

"Yes, I'm a wizard, Ethan!" Alec said, a grin spreading over his face. "I don't think my mom really gets it yet, you're the first person I've been able to tell; only I couldn't tell you around Pete or anyone else."

Ethan sat up and looked hard at Alec, scarcely believing his ears.

"Your parents...they're not?"

"Nope," Alec said. The smile vanished from his face as he continued. "I mean my dad...well, he died, but he wasn't a wizard or anything. Neither is my mom. But Professor Bancroft said it isn't unusual for someone whose whole family are, what's the word?"

"Muggles," Ethan answered automatically. _Bancroft had been in Madison?_ He thought.

"Right, whose family are muggles to have magic in them. And I guess he must be right, since right here in Madison there's you and me," Alec continued.

"But my parents...," Ethan again started a sentence only to stop abruptly. Suddenly he became more guarded; even if Alec was a wizard, Ethan guessed he didn't want to share his parents' story with him sitting here on the edge of the East Side Bike Trail.

"And you know, he said sometimes people do magic without even knowing it," Alec added breathlessly. "And looking back, I'm almost sure that that falling lamp at Warner Park wasn't just a coincidence."

"Umm, yeah, you could be right," Ethan averred. He knew Alec was referring to an evening a year earlier when the leader of the neighborhood bullies, Erik Brewer, had started giving Alec a beating behind the stands at a Black Wolf ball game. Ethan had interrupted him and as the bully had turned to him, a huge light fixture had fallen to the ground and shattered, injuring all three boys slightly.

"I think I might have done it myself," Alec said, sounding very proud about it.

"You think so?" Ethan asked, but suddenly his own thoughts were very confused. For Ethan, who had just received _his_ Kaaterskill letter then, was sure that _he_ had caused the accident. "I always thought it was me."

Alec frowned for just a moment, then grinned widely and said, "Maybe it was both of us, Ethan! You and me together!"

"Maybe," Ethan answered without conviction. He looked around into the gathering darkness and the fears that had been growing on him before he'd run into Alec returned. "Listen, we should both be getting home. It's not real safe to be out here after dark."

They both struggled to their feet. Ethan tried to knock some dirt off his jeans and straightened his glasses.

As they began to walk back towards Jenifer Street, Alec spoke.

"Professor Bancroft said something just like that, Ethan. He seemed to think all this strange weather had something to do with some bad wizard. Seemed a little far fetched to me, but then..."

His voice faltered. Ethan gave him a sharp look.

"Then what, Alec?"

"Well, it's probably just my imagination," the younger boy continued. "But last night I was coming back from Steve Simon's house, and all of a sudden everything went quiet and really, really dark. It wasn't _that_ late--there was still sun a minute before but then it was pitch black."

Alec stopped talking. They had reached the well-lit shopping district back at the corners.

"It just got really dark?" Ethan asked as they waited to cross the street.

"No, that was just how it began," Alec said. "Then I started shivering. I could swear I saw a couple of huge black figures floating above the street. I don't know what they were--they weren't birds, but there they were just hovering up in the air. It looked like a dark mist was coming off them. I couldn't move. While I was looking at them, I started to think of my dad for some reason; I remembered the day he..."

Alec stopped again and Ethan could see his eyes glistening in the street lights.

"The day he died," Alec said softly. "It was nearly five years ago. I almost never...I try not to think about it. But I couldn't think of anything else at all right then. I don't know how long it was, but it passed...the darkness, the cold, my memory. I looked up and the things were gone, too. You don't think I was dreaming, do you?"

"No, Alec, I don't think so," Ethan told him. Ethan was thinking about what his father had said about dementors and he was frightened; in fact he was pretty sure he was more frightened than Alec was himself. "Listen, why don't I just walk you back to your house before I go home myself."

"OK, thanks, Ethan...you don't have to though," Alec answered. He was smiling again. "Ever since I got my letter the bullies haven't worried me a bit."

Ethan didn't tell Alec that he thought Erik Brewer's gang might be the least of their concerns. Alec lived on the other side of the Yahara, so they walked past Ethan's house--on the other side of the street, because Ethan was worried his parents might see them--and back over the footbridge.

"Do you want to come in?" Alec asked as they reached his house, a bungalow slightly smaller than the Lloyds, directly across the street from Marquette Elementary. "I could introduce you to my mom."

"Maybe another time, Alec," Ethan said. "My parents might be worried about me."

"OK, well, sorry about following you and everything," Alec said. "But can we talk some more before school?"

"Umm, yeah, sure, Alec," Ethan said, not too enthusiastically. "Only remember, none of our friends or the other muggles--except your mom, of course--are supposed to know anything about magic, so we'll have to be careful."

"Sure, Ethan, I'll be careful," Alec said eagerly. "Maybe we can set up some kind of code to communicate..."

"Well, goodbye for now, Alec," Ethan said shortly. But to himself he thought, _He was nearly attacked by dementors and he's acting like we're playing at secret agents! _All Ethan wanted was to get inside as soon as possible. He turned to go.

"See ya, Ethan," Alec said and he walked up to his front door.

As Ethan walked back down to the footbridge, he could hear Alec's mom greeting him. Ethan wanted very much to be back home, but he wasn't looking forward to his parents' reaction. After what Alec had told him, he was painfully aware that he had been foolish to run out, yet he still resented the way this mother and father had been treating him.

Nevertheless he knew he could not stay out much longer. It had gotten very dark now and the mist had turned into a steady drizzle. His tee shirt was already nearly soaked and he was cold. And he had no wish to personally experience what Alec had described to him.

Ethan reached his own walk and hurried up to door, brightly lit by the porch light. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

His mother jumped up from the couch with a shriek.

"Griffin, he's here!" she shouted. "Ethan, are you alright?"

She wrapped him in a hug and admonished him at the same time.

"Where _have _you been? Your father and I have been so worried!"

Ethan's father entered the room from the kitchen, a look that mingled relief and severity on his face.

"Thank goodness you're OK!" he exclaimed, then added, "That was foolish, very foolish indeed, Ethan! Running off like that, given the state of things! But...well what matters is that you're alright."

Diana released her son and he again kicked off his muddy, wet sneakers.

"I'm alright," Ethan said quietly. "I know I shouldn't have...I'm sorry, but it's so frustrating only knowing bits and pieces of what's going on!"

"We realize that, Ethan," his mother said. "We've had a bit of a talk while you were gone, in fact. And we agreed that when it comes to this war--for that's what it will be--against Voldemort and Hafgan, we'll tell you everything we can."

"There are a few things that we've sworn never to reveal to anyone," his father added. "Those are the only exceptions. Will you try to work with us?"

"Yeah, dad, I will," Ethan replied. "And I guess I should tell you a couple of things I learned while I was out."

First he told them about Alec Evans. They seemed quite surprised.

"You mean Rachel Evans' boy?" his mother asked. "I would never have guessed that family would have magic in their genes. Rachel's nice enough, but...and I remember his father, he passed away a few years back...hard-working, but muggle through and through."

"And there's one other thing Alec told me that you should know about," Ethan continued and he described Alec's encounter with the airborne figures.

Griffin whistled.

"So they _are _around after all. That boy doesn't know how lucky he is, Ethan! That _is _news, no doubt!"

"Of course, if you doubted whether Alec was really a wizard, Ethan, that proves it," his mother added. "He wouldn't have seen them if he was a muggle. And that's one more reason I'm glad you're back in this house!"

"Me, too," Ethan admitted sheepishly. "But can I ask you one more thing?"

"Go ahead, son," Griffin answered.

"Remember last year, when the light fell at the ballgame?" Ethan asked. "When Alec was telling me about his letter and all, he said he thought maybe he'd made that happen."

"Really?" his father replied with a quizzical look.

"Well I thought it was me!" Ethan exclaimed. "I was really worried about it at the time...I mean; it helped me decide to go to Kaaterskill after all. But what if it was Alec?"

"What if it _was_ Alec?" Griffin repeated the question. "Would it make any difference to you now?"

"Well...I suppose not," Ethan said thoughtfully. "But still it feels weird...I mean if I'd known it wasn't me, who knows what I would have decided?"

"Who knows?" his mother said. "Do you still think you made the right decision?"

"Yeah!" Ethan said without hesitation.

"Then it doesn't really matter whether you have yourself or Alec Evans to thank for it, do you?" Diana added.

"I guess not," Ethan said, somewhat reassured.

"Besides, you don't _know_ it wasn't you," his mother concluded. "It could even have been both of you."

"Yeah, Alec said the same thing," Ethan said with a tentative grin.

"Well, I think it's time you get ready for bed," Griffin said. "No school work tonight, please!"

"Not tonight!" Ethan agreed. "All I want to do is sleep."

"And Ethan," his mother said as he headed for the stairs. "You had an owl while you were out. Here's the letter."

She handed him a rolled parchment tied round the middle with a string.

Ethan took the roll, untied it and quickly read the letter.

"It's from Tim!" he said excitedly. "He wants to know if he can come visit for the last three weeks of vacation. It's OK with his folks. He _can_ come, can't he?"

Griffin and Diana briefly shared a look of concern.

"I guess we can work that out," Griffin said. "But let's leave the details for tomorrow."

"OK. Good night, then!" Ethan said happily as he skipped up to his bedroom. Within a few minutes he was in bed, thinking about what a very odd day it had been and how great it would be to have Tim around for three whole weeks before they went back to Kaaterskill. With that happy thought he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Van Dam's Warning

_Chapter Three_

_Van Dam's Warning_

Night fog hung close to the river's surface. Water lapped against wood; sails snapped in a light breeze from the south; ropes creaked.

On a platform raised above the ship's deck, two men stood, one with a hand on the ship's wheel, gently steering. The helmsman was dressed in a shirt with ruffled sleeves and leather knee-breeches. The other man wore a blue jacket over his shirt. His head was covered by a three-cornered hat.

"Almost there, easy now," the other man said to the helmsman. "Bring her in nice and quiet."

"Aye, Captain Van Dam," the helmsman answered.

The ship had glided up to a long sandspit that jutted out from the shore, which was itself invisible in the fog.

"Anchors, now!" the captain called out to four sailors near the ship's bow.

As the anchors broke the water's still surface with a splash, the captain winced.

But the helmsman laughed a grim laugh and said, "No fear, Cap'n. They'll all be besotted by now--dead to the world. As indeed they will be hereafter."

"As indeed shall we all," the captain rejoined dourly.

The two of them hurried down to the deck, where they joined the four sailors who'd been on the bow and perhaps a dozen more.

The sailors seemed a motley group, no two dressed quite alike. Their armaments were likewise varied. Some wore straight swords in scabbards hung from their belts, some also had pistols, a few had curved scimitars and one carried a blunderbuss over his shoulder. But the captain at first appeared unarmed. Yet a careful observer would have noticed that in fact a ridiculously slender scabbard hung from his belt--and that the helmsman and perhaps half the crew were similarly equipped.

The men hurried to the stern, where two boats hung over the sides of the ship. They all clambered aboard these boats. When all were aboard, the Captain slid a wand from his scabbard; the helmsman, in the other boat, did the same. Each pointed his wand at the ropes that secured the boats and muttered an incantation. As they did so, the ropes dissolved. The boats descended gently to the water below.

Quickly the sailors took up oars and rowed towards the sandspit.

One grumbled, "And why can't you use your magic to save us this infernal rowing?"

"Silence!" the captain admonished the complainer. "We shall use magic when it most avails us, not to save your wretched arms a bit of fatigue!"

Even without magic to propel them, the little boats reached the shore in just a few minutes. The sailors jumped out and dragged the boats up onto the beach. Then they gathered themselves before the captain. He drew himself up and began to speak.

"Now, thou all know'st what must be done. There shouldst be little resistance because of our earlier preparations. There will be enough gold to satisfy wizard and muggle alike. Most important, we must secure the items from the shaman's longhouse. In and out quickly, lads, that's the ticket! And leave no witnesses! Director-General's orders!"

A low chorus of assent rose from the others. But one voice rose up to question the captain.

"Must I stay here with the boats, father? You know I wouldst go with the company."

The voice belonged to shortest of the sailors, a young man of perhaps a dozen years, with a long face like that of the captain, a pale complexion but eager eyes.

"Nay, Hans, thou knowest thy place is here. This venture is not devised for one so young. Had I been able, I would have left thee safe in New Amsterdam. Yet be of good cheer, lad! e'en so you have an important place to fill, guarding the boats so that we may flee this place quickly when our errand is accomplished."

"Yes, father," the boy answered, sounding unconvinced. "So be it."

At a word from the captain, the others formed ranks, drew their weapons, held them ready and began moving stealthily along the sandspit toward the shore.

The boy stood alone near the boats and watched them go. He held a wand uncertainly in his right hand and shuffled along the strand.

After a few minutes there came a loud report from the shore, then another. Immediately after, a bright green flash of light illuminated the shore line. Soon more gunfire pierced the night quiet and many green flashes allowed the boy to make out the outlines of longhouses and fishing huts along the riverside. An occasional scream or shout accompanied the other noises and the lights.

The boy shivered. Now he felt glad, if grudgingly so, that his father had made him stay behind. It didn't seem to him that the storming of the village was such a grand adventure after all, even if the Director-General _had_ ordered it.

The attack went on for some time, but the gunfire and green flashes gradually lessened in frequency.

Before the noise and lights ceased altogether, something else made Hans start. The hair on his neck stood straight up as he looked around apprehensively. Was someone near?

"Young one!" a voice sounded.

The boy spun around towards the boats.

"Who's there?" he called, holding his wand out. "Show yourself!"

"I am not hiding, young one," the voice said. "Look here, on the bow."

Hans looked down and saw, to his amazement, a tiny figure standing on the bow of one of the boats. He was clad in buckskins, such as the natives of the region wore.

Then the boy trembled, for he knew enough of his father's errand to fear their discovery by an Indian, even (or perhaps especially) one small enough to fit into his own palm.

"You have nothing to fear from me, young one," the small brave said gently. "I am Raven Man of the _Jo-Ge-Oh_. We are the protectors of the land and its magic, but we do not attack innocent pups, a virtue your sire and his crew would have done well to learn."

"What then wantest thou with me, if not to harm me?" the boy asked.

"To warn you," Raven Man said gravely. "To warn you that you may save yourself from your elders' fate. They have shed innocent blood tonight, they have defiled sacred places, and they believe they have secured the magic of this place for themselves. But they knew not that a deeper magic protected that which they sought. They will not leave this place with their lives."

"No!" the boy cried, despair and defiance mingling in his voice. "I must warn them!"

But Raven Man said sternly, "Move not from this place, lest you share their fate, from which they cannot escape."

"What then must I do?" Hans asked forlornly.

"When your father and the others pass by, you must not go with them, no matter how they may entreat you," Raven Man said. "If you set foot on their ship, you will not escape the curse that is upon them."

"But I owe obedience to my father and he is my captain as well," Hans said, a look of confused horror on his face.

"But you do not owe him obedience when such would cost you your soul. You need not share his fate. I have warned you in hopes that you will make wiser and juster choices than your elders," Raven Man countered. "It is your choice whether to heed the warning. Now I must leave you."

The boy watched as the tiny man jumped down from the boat into a diminutive canoe. His wonder grew as the man paddled the canoe up into the air and away towards the shore.

"Take heed, Hans Van Dam! And fare you well!" Raven Man cried as he sped away.

The boy kicked at the sand in frustration as he gazed down the sandspit toward the village. All was quiet now.

Presently he heard the tramp of feet approaching. Out of the darkness came the company of sailors, led by his father and the helmsman. They sounded boisterous and triumphant. Most were burdened with sacks laden with loot. But his father carried only a small birch bark casket with a domed lid and strange symbols all over its surface.

Hans started once again, for although the crew seemed unharmed, there was a strange glow in their eyes. Everyone's eyes looked as if they contained red-hot coals. His father's bright-blue eyes had vanished, replaced by red slits.

"Well, lad, here we be," his father said, clapping Hans on the back. "All in one piece and with all the Director-General sent us to obtain. But thou look'st as though thou hast seen a specter. Is all well?"

"Nay father, I have seen no ghosts," Hans replied, staring at this father's eyes. "Art thou sure _thou_ hast come to no harm? For I perceive thee and thy crew are somehow changed."

"Thou hast a lively imagination, Hans," the captain said with a laugh. "Now let us stow this bounty aboard and return as quickly as may be to New Amsterdam."

With that, the sailors all clambered aboard the boats. Hans hesitated.

"Come now, lad, we haven't time to wait for the sun to turn the river red," his father called.

And Hans turned and slowly entered his father's boat. The sailors rowed back to the ship, whose nameplate, emblazoned _Chimaera_ in gold letters, could now be seen.

Captain Van Dam and the helmsman waved their wands again, this time conjuring rope ladders, up which the sailors slowly climbed with their spoils.

Hans watched them fearfully, for it seemed that they were continuing to transform before his eyes. Black beards now looked silvery and transparent, ruddy faces had gone pasty white. Yet none of the crew seemed to notice anything amiss.

Finally only the helmsman remained in one boat, the captain and his son in the other. The helmsman climbed cat-like up the ladder. With a flick of his wand he raised his boat back up to its davits.

Hans gasped with fright as the helmsman looked down at him, for the man's face was now a mere skull, the red slits where his eyes ought to have been.

"Pray, father, go not aboard!" he pleaded. "See, thy ship is bewitched! Thy crew hast turned to ghosts once aboard!"

He pointed at the helmsman. Captain Van Dam looked up for a moment.

"Och, Hans, I shouldst not have left thee alone!" he said indulgently. "The solitude hast played upon thy young mind! Now, come along, we must be off."

And he reached for the ladder and lithely climbed up to the ship's deck, the birch bark casket clutched in one hand.

When he looked down at his son, the captain was surprised to see Hans had grabbed the boat's oars and started rowing back towards the sandspit.

"Damme, what spirit of insolence hath taken thee, Hans!" the captain cried angrily. "Return hither at once!"

Hans looked up over his shoulder and heartbreak etched his young face. For his father now looked as ghostly as the rest of the crew and his fierce red eyes burned with rage.

The captain raised his wand to cast a retrieving spell on his son's boat. But before he could finish a gigantic flash of green light surrounded the _Chimaera_ and a loud voice sounded across the waters.

"You evil ones! You have killed the people, stolen their treasures and you think you have gained the source of all their prosperity!"

Hans kept rowing, not daring to look back again. The voice continued.

"But all you have gained is a sentence of death and worse than that. The spark of life has been trickling away from you ever since you left the scene of your abominations. Yet the guardians have decreed that you shall not pass the veil and rest. Rather, you shall be cursed to sail this river for years unnumbered, bearing warnings that shall go unheeded. Men will flee at your coming and nothing shall avail you until one heeds a warning from you."

Hans' boat ran aground on the sandspit. He jumped out and hid behind it. As he did, the _Chimaera_ seemed to burst into ghostly flames and a wailing, chilling cry went up from the ship's company.

Hans shuddered and wept until finally all went black and he knew no more.

Ethan Lloyd awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright in bed. He looked around wildly, still seeing green lights and flames flashing in his mind. He was out of breath, cold sweat on his brow.

"Just a dream," he muttered to himself as he looked around his room, everything seeming as normal as ever. The window across the room was open and the owl cage empty; Bucky the barn owl was still out hunting on this warm August night.

Ethan had often had vivid dreams in the past, but the ones he remembered usually involved him in some way. Although the details of this dream were already fading from his consciousness he felt sure that what he had seen had occurred long ago. At the same time, something about the vision seemed familiar. There had been a ship--a sailing ship--and pirates, or so it had seemed. And something terrible had happened, something evil and murderous.

As he tried to recall the details of the dream, Ethan became aware of something moving just outside his window.

"Bucky?" he called uncertainly.

But the owl did not fly back into the room.

A moment later, something did enter, but not through the window. Instead, a shimmering, translucent figure glided right through the wall.

Ethan gasped as the figure straightened up and floated at the foot of the bed.

It was a man, or rather, the ghost of a man. Only at school had Ethan seen ghosts. Each of Kaaterskill's four houses had its own ghost and a number of others also glided around the school.

Ethan's shock stemmed not from the mere presence of a ghost in his bedroom, but from the fact that he recognized the apparition. Indeed, he had seen this man only moments earlier, not as a silvery spirit but as a remarkably real image in the dream. For there was no doubt in Ethan's mind that the ghost before him was none other than the tall, grim captain of the attackers' ship.

Ethan shrank against the wall of his bed. Had he thought about it, he might have realized that he'd never known a ghost to harm anyone. But though the details of the dream still eluded him, he was sure that the captain had led his crew to commit horrendous crimes in the dream. Ethan felt a mixture of fear and fascination as he gazed on the ghost.

For its part, the ghost merely hovered there for a minute, regarding Ethan curiously.

Finally Ethan found his voice.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" he whispered hoarsely.

The ghost removed its hat and bowed.

"Jan Van Dam at thy service," it said in a sepulchral tone. "I have come to warn thee, Ethan Lloyd."

"Warn me? I don't understand. How do you know who I am?"

"I was dispatched to tell thee just this: Thou must not return to Kaaterskill Academy of Magic this year!" Von Dam's ghost answered mournfully.

"What?" Ethan asked, thoroughly confused. "Why not?"

"A most devilish plot hath been set in motion," the ghost intoned. "Terrible deeds will beset thy school, Ethan Lloyd! Thou must not be caught up in the evil."

"Hang on! What deeds? How do you know this?"

"I can impart no more, boy!" the ghost replied.

"I can't just not show up at school," Ethan insisted. "Kaaterskill's where I belong anyway, not here! I don't fit here anymore...if I ever did. You have to tell me what's going on! Who's plotting?"

"Nay, lad, that is not permitted me now," Van Dam's ghost said. "Thou wast to be warned and I have so warned thee! Remember my words!"

With that, the ghost replaced the hat on its head and swooped back towards the wall.

"Wait! You can't leave yet!" Ethan called in vain as the captain's spirit vanished through the walls again. Ethan leapt out of bed, ran quickly to the window and looked out. There was no sign of the ghost.

He slammed his hand down on the window frame in frustration. A moment later, Bucky glided through the window, a fat field mouse in his talons. The owl lighted on the perch in his cage and regarded Ethan with bright eyes.

"Didn't you see him?" Ethan asked breathlessly. "A man, I mean a ghost, floating away?"

If Bucky had seen the ghost, he betrayed no such information to Ethan. Instead he began tearing at the dead mouse with his beak.

"Figures you're just interested in dinner!" Ethan muttered as he shut the window.

Bucky gave him a reproachful look between mouthfuls of mouse.

Ethan flopped back onto his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He listened in vain, hoping to catch some clue that he hadn't imagined the entire episode. But the house was silent. Ethan's parents had apparently slept right through his encounter with the ghost.

Had the spectral captain been just another dream? No, Ethan was quite sure he'd been awake when the captain's shade had entered the room.

What then could it all mean? Surely it was no coincidence that the ghost who had come to warn Ethan had had a starring role in the strange dream of moments earlier.

As Ethan pondered these mysteries, sleep took him once again. He slept deep and dreamlessly for the rest of the night, only awakening when his mother shook him about 8:30 the following morning. The sun streamed through his window, hurting his eyes as he arose slowly.

"Come on sleepy head! Tim will be here in just a few hours. They stopped in Eau Claire last night, so they've not got much of a drive today," Diana said as Ethan rubbed his eyes sleepily.

Half an hour later, Ethan sat at the kitchen table, eating his cereal and toast between yawns. Neither a shower nor his anticipation of Tim's arrival had fully awakened him.

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" his father asked as he prepared to head off to work at the art library. "Nothing wrong with being a bit excited, I guess."

"As long as you're awake when they get here," his mother added.

"Don't worry, Mom, I will be," Ethan said. He'd decided not to try to explain the real reason for his fatigue to his parents, at least not yet. He wanted to think about it some more himself and he'd told himself that the arrival of Tim and his mom was enough to keep everyone occupied for the moment.

A bit later, Ethan sat in the living room, idly reading and half-watching the television.

His mom brought in her cup of coffee and sat with him.

"You'll have to introduce Tim to Alec Evans," she said. "I guess you'll all be heading back to school together."

Ethan rolled his eyes.

"Do I have to, Mom? I'm sick to death of Alec already and he's not even at Kaaterskill yet."

"Well, once you're at school, he probably won't be able to spend as much time with you. He'll have plenty of first-years to hang around with, and he may not even be in Bradbury," his mother said, trying to defuse Ethan's annoyance. "But it's only polite to introduce Tim and Alec."

"Well, OK, but don't expect Tim and me to spend all our time with him."

"Oh, I won't expect that Ethan, believe me!" Diana replied with a laugh.

It was about an hour later that a burgundy minivan with Saskatchewan license plates pulled up in front of the Lloyd's bungalow.

"They're here, Mom!" Ethan shouted from the porch. He ran down the steps to the curb, where Tim had just jumped down from the passenger seat and was stretching.

"Hey, Tim, welcome to Madison!" Ethan called to his friend, shaking hands vigorously.

"Thanks, man, it's good to finally be here," Tim answered. Ethan stood back and looked Tim over. His curly brown hair had been allowed to grow out quite a bit and Ethan thought Tim was at least an inch taller than when he'd last seen him nearly two months ago. His arms and face were well-tanned from farm work; the Van der Meulens had a large wheat farm on the Canadian Prairies.

Tim's mom, a blonde woman as stocky as her son, came around the front of the van.

"I'm guessing you must be Ethan," she said. "I'm Virjean Van der Meulen."

"Please to meet you, Mrs. Van der Meulen," Ethan said. "And here's my mom!"

Diana Lloyd greeted Tim and his mom.

"Why don't you boys bring Tim's stuff in?" she suggested. "Can I interest you in a cup of coffee, Virjean?"

"That sounds real nice," Tim's mom answered. With that, the two women headed into the house and Tim opened the back of the van.

He and Ethan carted Tim's trunk up to Ethan's room. On their second trip, Ethan lugged the cage with Tim's Great Gray owl, Evangeline. When he set her cage down atop the dresser, Bucky hooted a greeting which Evangeline answered happily. The boys went back to cart Mrs. Van der Meulen's suitcase and a long narrow package of Tim's.

"That's the Quicksilver," Tim said. "I don't suppose I'll get a chance to use it around here."

"I doubt it," Ethan agreed, as they headed back inside with their loads.

"Back home, I got a chance to fly quite a lot, really," Tim said. "I think my brothers--the younger ones, anyway--were pretty jealous. I don't think Marvin really knew what to make of it."

"You did make sure no one else saw you?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, yeah. I only flew out over one of our biggest fields, miles away from town or any houses. And I kept low--did a lot of skimming just above the wheat," Tim explained. "Of course, there wasn't anyone to play Quidditch with. So what have you been up to?"

"Not much, really," Ethan told him, as they reached his room. "Summer assignments, when I can. Gone to some ball games with Pete and Justin and Ryan--I told you about them. The rains finally let up around here a couple of weeks ago."

"I know...now it's Winnipeg and Minneapolis that are being flooded," Tim said. In a lower voice he asked, "Does your dad really think that's because of dementors?"

"Definitely," Ethan replied. "And I believe it, too, especially after Alec Evans's story."

"I remember, you wrote about that. He actually saw them?"

"Uh-huh. Didn't know what they were, though," Ethan confirmed. As they were finished carrying the Van der Meulen luggage, he sat down on his bed. Tim dropped into the desk chair.

"So what's this kid like?" Tim asked. "You made him sound really obnoxious."

"Well, you'll be able to see for yourself," Ethan told him. "Mom says I have to introduce you. But yeah, I think he is obnoxious. It's like having a little brother sometimes."

"It can't be_ that_ bad," Tim observed sagely. "At least Alec has to go home to his own house at the end of the day. I can't ever get away from my brothers and sisters when I'm home!"

"I s'pose not. So how's _your_ summer been, then?"

"OK, I guess," Tim said without enthusiasm.

"You, too, eh?"

"Well, it was good to see everybody...at first," Tim said. "And Dad always needs all the help he can find on the farm; it was good to get back to that."

"But that sounds like hard work," said Ethan skeptically. "You really like it?"

"Yeah, I do. I can't explain why, really," Tim replied. "Maybe it's in my genes, just like magic. When I'm out in the fields, I can just concentrate on that and forget everything else. But even farm work was...well, somehow different this year."

"How?" Ethan asked.

"Well, like I was saying about flying, my younger brothers and sister thought that it was cool. Problem is, they couldn't stop talking about it--magic this, magic that. I was always afraid they'd let something slip to their friends. And they kept wanting me to turn a rock into a frog or something else stupid."

"You didn't, did you?" Ethan asked.

"Of course not!" Tim said firmly. "I'd told them I wasn't allowed to do magic at home. But that just made it worse. At first Marvin and Susie didn't know what to make of me. But after a while, even Marvin started bugging me to magic the weeds away and stuff. Eventually it just wasn't much fun being around all of them. I think that's why Mom and Dad suggested coming east so early."

"Well, I'm glad they did!" Ethan said fervently. "'Cause between Alec bugging me about Kaaterskill and having to be sure I don't slip up and tell _my_ friends something I shouldn't, I've been kind of going nuts around here. And then..." He hesitated.

Tim gave him a look that said _What have you gotten yourself into now, Ethan? _ But he actually asked, "And then what?"

"Something really strange happened just last night," Ethan confided. He proceeded to tell Tim what he could remember about the dream and then described the visit from Captain Van Dam's ghost.

When he'd finished, Tim gave a low whistle.

"So he wouldn't tell you anything about why you shouldn't go back?" he asked.

"Nothing, except 'something terrible will happen'," Ethan affirmed.

"Seems kind of fishy, doesn't it?" Tim offered. "Sounds like a practical joke by someone who just doesn't want you back at school."

"Yeah, but who has a ghost they can order around to tell me?" Ethan asked. "I mean, can't ghosts just come and go as they please? And besides, this ghost was in my dream, too!""

"I don't know, Ethan," Tim replied thoughtfully. "The ghosts at school seem pretty independent, but I suppose the Headmaster does have some control over them. The real question is who wouldn't want you around Kaaterskill."

"Well, Brocklebank would be at the top of that list, wouldn't he?" Ethan proposed. Simon Brocklebank was a classmate of Ethan and Tim at Kaaterskill and he came from a very well-to-do wizarding family. Ethan and Simon had been sworn enemies almost from the moment they'd met aboard the steamboat to school the previous year. Brocklebank's family was very proud that they were "pure bloods," with no muggles in their family tree. Simon looked down on Ethan because one of Ethan's great grandmothers had been a muggle and also because he was friends with Tim, who was the first wizard in his family.

"Sure, but I've said this before--Simon's not smart enough to manage a big scheme like this," Tim objected.

"Well, there are always his parents," Ethan persisted. "And how about that uncle of his, Lothar Barghest? He despised me from the minute he laid eyes on me last summer. And if he's really in league with Hafgan..."

With that, they were interrupted by a voice from the first floor.

"Why don't you come down, boys?" Ethan's mother called up. "You shouldn't stay cooped up inside on a day like this!"

"I know exactly what she's going to suggest," Ethan muttered as they headed down the stairs.

"I just called Mrs. Evans to see if Alec was free," Diana told them.

Behind her back, Ethan mouthed "I told you so" noiselessly to Tim, before asking aloud, "He is, right?"

"Yes and don't sound so disgruntled about it! Why don't you and Tim go over and get him and go to the park? His mom sounded kind of worried about him; she doesn't think he's getting out enough."

"OK, Mom, we're going," Ethan said, trying not to sound too put-upon. "When do you want us back?"

"Oh, why don't the three of you go down to Michael's when you're ready for lunch? This should cover it," Diana answered as she handed Ethan some cash. "Just be back by four or so. Virjean and I may go by the Co-op and then head downtown."

Ethan had to admit that getting lunch out was fairly reasonable compensation for having to spend several hours with Alec.

As he and Tim headed towards the footbridge, Ethan pointed out the Abrams' house.

"They're away this week and part of next," he said. But when Pete gets back, you'll have to meet him. He's cool to hang out with, you'll like him. 'Course we'll have to watch what we talk about."

They reached Alec's house a few minutes later. Ethan knocked on the front door, which instantly swung open.

Alec beckoned them in, beaming excitedly.

"Hiya Ethan!" he sang out. "And you must be Tim! I'm Alec Evans."

"Glad to meet you, Alec," Tim answered, bemused, as they shook hands.

"And _I'm_ glad to meet you!" Alec rejoined. "I mean, Ethan's been a big help already, but you and I, well, all my family's muggle through and through, just like yours, and everything's awfully new to me. You can really tell me what to expect, can't you?"

"Well, I suppose so," Tim said. Before he could think of anything else to say, Alec started talking again.

"Oh, and here's my mom, Tim. Mom, this is Tim, Ethan's friend from...from...where are you from, Tim?"

"Saskatchewan," Tim answered with a laugh as he shook hands with Alec's mom, a short woman with prematurely gray hair and glasses. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Evans."

"And welcome to you," Alec's mom said. As she looked at the three boys, Ethan thought he caught a look of uncertainty, perhaps even fear, in her eyes.

"Well, I guess you're all off for the rest of the morning, then," she continued.

"Actually, my mom's treating us to lunch, too," Ethan told her. "If it's OK for Alec to come, of course."

"Why that's just fine," Mrs. Evans answered.

"Then we'll be back sometime after lunch," Ethan said. With that, the boys headed toward the park along the lake.

Alec kept up a steady stream of questions and exclamations, which were occasionally punctuated by monosyllabic replies from Tim. Ethan walked along, mostly silent, juggling the soccer ball they'd brought with them.

When they reached the lake shore, Tim gaped for a moment at the wide sheet of placid water, blue with a greenish tint of algae in the August sun.

"That's Lake Monona," Ethan told him. "It's the second biggest of the lakes. We're surrounded by them, you know."

"It's beautiful!" Tim said. "'Course the biggest body of water where I'm from is the neighbors' farm pond."

"But Lake Mendota's supposed to have monsters!" Alec interjected.

"Yeah, but no one's seen them in years," Ethan added, drop kicking the ball out into the open field. Tim chased after it, then called Alec's name as he launched the ball towards the younger boy.

Alec ran up to the ball and managed a dribbling kick to Ethan.

After a quarter-hour of kicking the ball back and forth, the boys marked out a goal with some downed branches. Tim played goalie while the other two tried to score.

In truth, Alec wasn't much of a soccer player, but he seemed so pleased to have been included in the older boys' outing that he tried especially hard to keep up. But he didn't have a strong leg and he seemed afraid of the ball. At least the game kept him from constantly bombarding the others with questions.

At one point, Ethan lofted the ball high in the air towards Alec.

"Header!" Tim shouted. Alec looked as though he wanted to dodge out of the way, but Ethan yelled (in either encouragement or admonition), "Come on; don't just let it fall in!"

To Ethan's surprise, the ball didn't drop. Alec looked up at it and closed his eyes as if awaiting the impact. And the ball bounced back up--without hitting so much as a hair on Alec's head.

"Not bad!" Tim exclaimed as the ball landed at Ethan's feet. "Wait 'til you can try quidditch."

Rather than take a shot, Ethan trapped the ball, glanced around the park and looked sternly at Alec.

"Watch it!" he said. "You're lucky no one's too close. You know, we're not allowed to do magic except at school!"

Alec suddenly looked downcast. Tim responded, "Oh, come on Ethan. He's not even in school yet. And it's not like he used a wand or anything."

"Oh, I suppose you're right," Ethan conceded. "Sorry, Alec. But try to be careful, OK. If something happens while you're with us, we might get in trouble."

"I'll be careful, Ethan, honest," Alec said shyly. "I don't even have a wand yet...I hope I get to pick one out soon!"

"Hey, I'm starving!" Tim interrupted. "Why don't we go get something to eat?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Alec added. "Where are we going?"

"The frozen custard stand," Ethan told him. "It's a bit of a hike, so we'd better get going."

Ethan thought that walking the bike path seemed to take a lot longer on a pleasant midday with Alec's constant chatter than it had on a cold, misty evening when he'd been mad at his parents.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Alec knew the names and ages of all of Tim's siblings. (_He'll know the cows' names soon_, Ethan thought.)

They ordered cheeseburger plates and found a booth at the back of the dining room. Tim devoured his lunch quickly and Ethan gave him some of the change to get dessert.

"Tim seems cool," Alec said nervously. "Do you think he likes me?"

"He's a good friend," Ethan replied. "He's the smartest kid in my class and he's a quidditch star. And he's got no reason not to like you."

When Tim got back with a hot fudge sundae, Ethan headed up to the counter. Alec had spent so much time talking that he was the last to finish lunch. Not until after Ethan sat down with his banana split was Alec ready to order dessert. Ethan handed him the remaining change and off he went.

"I hope your Mom wasn't expecting to get any of her money back!" Tim said with a grin.

"I don't think she was," Ethan said between spoonfuls of whipped cream and cherries. "She knows this is my favorite place and I don't get here very often."

Ethan saw Alec start back from the counter with a milk shake in hand. But as the younger boy passed the second booth, a foot shot out to trip him. Alec sprawled on the floor. His milk shake flew up in a graceful arc, then plummeted to the ground and burst just before it reached Tim and Ethan.

A chorus of guffaws arose from the second booth. The person who had tripped Alec turned and said in a mocking tone, "Oh, look, little Evans lost his balance and made a big mess!"

Ethan didn't have to see the person's face to recognize Erik Brewer, the neighborhood bully.

"Uh-oh, this is trouble," he told Tim, and before he could say more the real trouble began.

There were no other customers inside--most had taken their food to the tables outside--and the counter help had apparently taken advantage of a lull in business to hang out in the kitchen. So no one else had witnessed Alec's fall.

This was a good thing, for the next moment place settings from a nearby table began to rise into the air. Knives, spoons, forks and even napkins floated upward and began to whirl together as if a small tornado had suddenly invaded the restaurant.

Ethan and Tim stared dumbstruck at the column of cutlery as it began rotating faster and faster.

Erik Brewer and his buddies stared just at hard at the swirling silverware, their disbelief turning to panic as the metallic twister made a beeline for them. Before they could react, they were attacked by a hail of teaspoons, forks and butter knives. They covered their faces with their hands, trying to fend off the attacking silverware with their elbows. After another half-minute, the cutlery clattered down onto the table and the floor. The noise finally alerted the staff that something unusual was going on.

What they saw was strange enough, if not as odd as what they had missed. Alec was getting up off the floor, his milk shake splattered in the corner of the room. The five boys at Erik's table, unhurt but white as sheets, sat petrified amongst the fallen place settings.

A moment later, the manager emerged from the kitchen. Surveying the scene, he shouted, "Out! All of you! And I don't want to see any of you back here!"

The bullies cleared out first, hurrying out the front door. Erik cast a fearful look back at Ethan as he fled.

"But they tripped me," Alec began.

"I don't care, kid, just get out!" the manager snapped.

"Come on Alec, let's go," Ethan urged as he and Tim left their booth. Pointing towards the back door, which opened onto the bike path, he said, "This way!"

As they left, Ethan added, "With luck, they'll be heading down the Avenue, not the path!"

"You're not scared of them, are you?" Alec asked in disbelief.

"No, Alec...don't you get it?" Ethan replied in exasperation.

"What?"

Tim answered. "You just did magic in front of muggles, Alec. You want to stay as far away from those guys as you can, so you don't do it again."

"Oh," Alec said, crestfallen, as they started hiking up the bike path. "But he started it. And I didn't mean to do _anything_, really. Although it was kinda cool to see..."

Before Alec could finish, there was a whooshing noise, something swooped in front of them and landed on Ethan's shoulder. It was a brown barn owl with a small letter in its beak.

Alec eyed the owl curiously. Ethan took the letter and the owl whooshed away into the blue afternoon sky.

Ethan broke the red wax seal on the envelope and took out the letter. A sinking feeling overtook him as he read. When he finished, he looked up and gulped.

Tim and Alec were staring at him anxiously.

"Well, what is it?" Tim asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Here, see for yourself!" Ethan groaned as he thrust the letter into Tim's hands. "Thanks a lot, Alec!"


	4. Chapter 4: In Farrand Square

_Chapter Four_

_In Farrand Square_

Tim scanned the letter quickly. His expression changed from bemused to grim as he took it in.

"What?" Alec asked apprehensively.

Tim cleared his throat and began to read the letter aloud.

_Forwarded via The Owl Roost, Kaaterskill Academy of Magic_

_Dear Mister Lloyd,_

_We have been advised that a Cyclone charm was used in your location this afternoon at 1:47._

_As you are aware, underage wizards are not allowed to do magic outside school. Further violations of this regulation may result in your expulsion from Kaaterskill Academy of Magic (Magical Statutes of the US, 1899, Section 15, Paragraph D)._

_We would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that Section 13 of the Statute of Secrecy prohibits any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community, commonly known as Muggles. (International Confederation of Warlocks, 1692, adopted and ratified by the Continental Congress of Wizards, 1778) Appropriate penalties for violation of this provision are outlined in the Federal Wizarding Penal Code._

_Trusting that you are having a relaxing vacation, _

_Seward G. Bunyan  
Improper Use of Magic Office  
Division of Magical Law Enforcement  
Department of Magic_

"It's not really _his_ fault, Ethan," Tim said, tapping the letter. "What I want to know is why this Seward G. Bunyan thinks _you_ did it? I mean, don't they know Alec was there, too? Or me, for that matter?"

As Tim had read the letter, Alec had gradually turned paler.

"Gosh, I'm really sorry, Ethan," he said haltingly. "How do they know this kind of stuff, anyway?"

"Well, they couldn't very well threaten to expel _him_, since he hasn't even started school yet!" Ethan said to Tim, ignoring Alec.

"I s'pose not," Tim said. "But we'd better get back to your house before anything else happens."

"Yeah, you're right!" Ethan agreed. "Come on, Alec, let's get a move on."

Back they trudged along the path in silence. Ethan fumed to himself over the injustice of it all. _How could they blame me for something that little twerp did_? he wondered.

Tim kept his thoughts to himself. Alec walked along with them, downcast, looking as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

They stopped when they reached the Lloyds' front yard. Ethan had no intention of walking Alec home under the circumstances.

Tim must have sensed this. He clapped Alec on the shoulder and and said, "Don't worry, eh, Alec? We'll sort this out and everything will be fine. Just try to be careful from now on, OK?"

"OK," Alec answered so glumly that Ethan felt a twinge of guilt for his earlier reaction.

"Tim's right, Alec, I know you weren't trying to do anything wrong! We'll all be OK."

"Yeah, well, see ya," Alec said and he started to walk away.

"See ya," Ethan and Tim rejoined as they headed up the walk to the porch.

Ethan opened the door warily. He and Tim slipped into the living room as quietly as they could. Their stealth was all in vain, for as soon as the door closed behind them, Mrs. Van der Meulen peered around the corner from the kitchen. A moment later, Diana Lloyd followed Tim's mom into the living room. Ethan was dismayed that she held in her hand a letter that had clearly been sent by Owl Post.

"Well, well, I guess you _have_ had a busy day," she said shrewdly. "Care to explain what's going on?"

"It wasn't me, Mom!" Ethan exclaimed. "Alec did it!"

"Not that he knew what he was doing," Tim added quickly. "And he _was_ provoked."

"Well, yeah, he was," Ethan agreed. The two boys poured out the whole story in a few moments.

Before Ethan could ask the question in his mind, the front door swung in again and Ethan's father hurried in, out of breath.

"Merlin's beard, Ethan!" he began, but he stopped as he took in the tableau before him: Ethan and Tim looking disheveled and aggrieved, Diana with a bemused look on her face and Virjean, who looked utterly confused.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, addressing Tim's mom. "You must be Mrs. Van der Meulen. Griffin Lloyd, very pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you," she replied. "Just call me Virjean. Thanks for asking us."

"And this lad must be Tim!" Griffin continued. "Welcome!"

"Yes, sir. Thanks!" Tim answered.

"Erm...you may be wondering why I'm home so early," Griffin said doubtfully.

"Or not," Diana said with a smile, holding up her letter.

"Well, yes, I got one too," her husband continued. "I was at coffee break out on the terrace when all of a sudden a bloody owl swooped in on me. First time in all these years that one's turned up in public."

"I don't s'pose you were alone," Diana said with some concern.

"No, of course not. Just Sheldon and Elena at the table, but the Terrace was pretty full. Most people didn't notice, naturally, but I had to modify memories at several nearby tables."

Griffin said this ruefully. "I don't like doing that, especially to friends, but there really wasn't a choice. Now, what's this all about, boys?"

Ethan repeated the story, as Tim added occasional comments. Once they'd finished, Ethan asked, "So why are they blaming me?"

"Is it because Alec's not at school yet?" Tim asked.

"That may be part of it," Griffin agreed. "But it's more complicated, I think. You see, although the Department of Magic can detect underage magic, they can't identify the individual who conjured it. They can, however, check up on specific wizards and witches who may be of particular interest to them."

"You mean they're following me around?" Ethan asked incredulously.

"Well, maybe not exactly," Diana jumped in. "But you know they're interested in your father and me. They can't actually find us if we don't want to be found. With all you went through last year, you know they have a pretty good idea of where we are. But you see that these letters were forwarded through Kaaterskill; they can't reach any of us directly. "

"You're right about one thing," his father added. "They're probably not really aware of Alec yet, not until he starts school. And they don't know Tim's visiting you."

"You must understand that when we came here, Professor Flyte helped us set up the protective spells," Diana interjected. "Mind you, it was all _very_ advanced, some completely novel. For example, making the house unplottable to wizards but _not_ to Muggles."

"Yes," Griffin continued. "And it had to be done in such a way that a wizard couldn't _use_ a muggle to find it, either. Anyway, the primary protection is on the house and yard; slightly less on the neighborhood; next we covered the routes your mother and I use to get to work. And of course, the Library and the Co-op are part of the scheme. We added Marquette Elementary when you started school."

"So you're saying that as long as I stay near the house, they don't know where I am?" Ethan asked as he reflected on these words.

"Naturally it was impractical to cover the whole city," Diana concluded. "And down the way you went today is beyond the limits."

"Your neighborhood is a safe haven, then," Tim said.

"Or a prison!" Ethan added vehemently.

"Depends on how you look at it, I suppose," Tim's mother said. Until then, Virjean Van der Meulen had listened silently. "Could be either...or both. I don't pretend to understand most of what your parents have said, Ethan, but I'd say they've gone to a lot of trouble to keep you safe."

"I know," Ethan admitted, as the old feeling of resentment subsided a bit. "It's just...just another little surprise."

Then he continued thoughtfully, "So they can know where we are, sometimes. Is there any real danger in that, as long as we stay away from Alec?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Griffin asked in reply. "I'm inclined to think they're just happy to keep tabs on you when they can."

"It couldn't have anything to do with what happened at the end of last term, could it?" Ethan asked.

"Well it certainly _could_," Diana answered. "But the talisman's been destroyed, so you'd be of no help to Hafgan now. I agree with your father...someone in the Department just wants to know where any wizard named Lloyd is at any given moment."

"Still we may want to change some of our plans," Griffin suggested pensively. "Old Solomon's Row may not be the best place for your supplies this year."

"But where else can we get them?" Ethan asked curiously. His parent' eyes met for a moment and then his mother spoke.

"How would you boys like to see New York City before you head back to school?"

"I'll bet I know the answer to that," Mrs. Van der Meulen said.

"Cool!" Tim and Ethan chimed in together.

"I'll send an owl to Bertrand and Eilonwy tonight," Griffin said without elaboration.

Tim's mom stayed on for a few days and then headed back to Saskatchewan. She gave Tim--and each of the Lloyds--a big hug before she left.

To Ethan she said, "Next time you'll have to come out to visit us!"

She urged Tim to work hard. As he nodded she added, "And be careful!"

The rest of August passed more quickly than Ethan had imagined possible. He and Tim had a great time, though they mostly confined their activities to the Lloyds' neighborhood.

Tim got to know Pete and Ethan's other muggle friends as well. No magic transpired in their presence and no secrets were revealed. They did see Alec from time to time; he seemed to have recovered from the restaurant incident, though he was far less talkative than was his normal wont.

One Saturday morning at breakfast, Griffin laid out the plans for their return to school.

"Uncle Bertrand's going to come out next week," he explained. "Alec's mom will drive all of you to Chicago. When you get to Hoboken, Bertrand will take you over to Brooklyn. He and Eilonwy will take you to get your supplies in the city and see to it that you get on the steamboat all right."

Ethan was delighted with this itinerary, although he was somewhat mystified as to why New York would be a safer place than Milwaukee for their shopping.

"Erm, well, it's not so much the city as the company, I suppose," his father tried to explain.

"You mean it's more dangerous if you're with me?" Ethan asked, as another uncomfortable truth dawned on him.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, yes," Griffin answered.

Uncle Bertrand arrived, apparently delighted at the chance to escort the three boys across the country. The Saturday before Labor Day, Alec's mom pulled up in front of the Lloyds' bungalow in a blue minivan.

Alec shyly greeted Tim and Ethan. The younger boy seemed extremely nervous. Ethan tried to remember leaving Madison a year earlier and he guessed that Alec's anxiety stemmed more from his imminent departure for the unknown than from any lingering shame over the cyclone charm.

Somehow they managed to fit all the luggage, including two caged owls, into the back of the van. Bertrand sat up front with Mrs. Evans and the three boys piled into the middle seat. Alec's mom looked almost as nervous as her son, though Ethan reflected that this could have been due to the fact that Uncle Bertrand was dressed in red denim jeans, a colorful plaid sport coat and a pink shirt with ruffled collar.

The drive to Union Station proved uneventful. As they wheeled their luggage through the station, Ethan noted that Uncle Bertrand received a number of curious stares from passersby. He concluded that this was actually a good thing, as Bertrand's outlandish costume reduced the attention paid to their owls.

They reached the platform that led to Track 99Q. Ethan saw that Alec and his mother both looked perplexed. He quietly explained about the pylon barrier that now stood directly before them. Alec nodded excitedly, while his mother turned rather pale.

Uncle Bertrand clearly his throat and said, "Let's go, then!"

He walked into the pylon and vanished. Tim followed directly.

Ethan turned to Alec.

"You and your mom go next. It'll be OK."

Alec took his mother's hand and stepped forward. Through the pylon they went.

Ethan followed and found himself on the platform with the sleek streamlined _Hoboken Limited_ waiting for them.

They found their sleeper and began to board. Bertrand shook hands with Mrs. Evans.

"You will look after him, won't you?" Alec's mom asked Ethan and Tim. They both nodded. A teary hug later and Alec climbed aboard behind the others.

A year earlier Ethan's overnight journey on the _Limited_ was nearly too exciting. He'd met Tim, of course, but he'd also had dinner with a stranger who he realized much later had most likely been Hafgan in disguise. His roomette had been ransacked by someone who had apparently been seeking Ethan's wand. Luckily he'd had the wand with him in the dining car at the time, following his father's advice.

This year the trip was blessedly free of excitement. The food was excellent as usual, cooked and served by a crew of house elves. Tim and Ethan introduced Alec to Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap. Bertrand relaxed in the lounge car and paid only occasional attention to the boys.

So it was that they arrived in Hoboken Terminal well-fed and rested. The porter obtained two carts and loaded the trunks and owls. They headed up the platform and into the terminal, not towards the steamboat dock but towards the section occupied by muggle commuter trains.

"How are we going to get from here to your house, Uncle Bertrand?" Ethan asked curiously, as they all rested against their luggage for a moment.

"We'll take the Wunderground, of course," Bertrand said matter-of-factly.

"Will they really let us take the owls on the subway?" Alec asked.

"Did I say anything about the subway?" Bertrand answered a bit impatiently. "The Wunderground!"

"Umm, what's the Wunderground, sir?" Tim ventured to ask.

"You're about to find out, lad!" Bertrand said. "The entrance is right up there."

He pointed to the tiled wall ahead of them. "Let's go, then!"

Ethan and Tim pushed the baggage carts up the corridor, Alec and Uncle Bertrand strolling alongside. As they approached the wall a large golden "W" in a circle appeared before them.

Uncle Bertrand cleared his throat and said loudly, "Brooklyn bound!"

The "W" began to pulsate faintly, then positively throbbed with golden light.

"In we go, then," Bertrand said encouragingly. He stepped into the wall and vanished.

"You next," Tim told Alec, who obediently disappeared into the wall.

Next Tim pushed his cart through the wall. Ethan followed him a few moments later. The cart moved through the tiles effortlessly and Ethan found himself with the others in a gas-lit chamber. They were standing on a tiled platform. The wall was decorated with a geometric mosaic and the words "HOBOKEN-MAGITRAK." Small lamps lined the walls, casting their light dimly up onto a barrel-vaulted ceiling. Adjacent to the platform was what appeared to be a single rail car, waiting for them with doors open. The car was a brilliant shade of chartreuse and it bore the encircled "W" logo at the center of the car.

Ethan had never been on a subway before, but he thought to himself that there was at least one difference between a subway and the conveyance that stood before him. He would have expected to see a tunnel disappearing into the distant darkness beyond the station. But the room in which they now stood had four very solid-looking walls.

"Come on, get in, Eilonwy will be wondering what's taking us!" Bertrand said. "Oh and leave the carts here."

They lugged their trunks, owl cages and Bertrand's bag into the car. Ethan was amazed by the brightly-lit interior, polished wood paneling and upholstered seats.

They all sat down. A clear female voice spoke, "Welcome to the Wunderground. Watch the closing doors. Destination?"

"Vinegar Hill Station," Bertrand said clearly.

"Thank you. Remember to secure all parcels and enjoy your ride."

"Uncle Bertrand, what did she mean "secure all..." Ethan began, only to stop when the car gave a huge shudder.

"Just hold on!" Bertrand shouted.

Ethan and Tim had just time enough to grab their owls' cages before the car jumped again. This time it accelerated, for Ethan was thrown back against a seat, somehow retaining his grip on Bucky's cage. All the luggage slid to the back of the car and Ethan was sure his stomach had gone with it. A quick glimpse at Tim and Alec told him they felt the same way. Uncle Bertrand alone seemed unruffled, though he was also plastered to his chair.

The platform had disappeared. The car was hurtling forward through darkness, apparently making its own tunnel as it went. Suddenly they zoomed out into a brightly-lit concourse full of people. _Now this is the muggle subway_, Ethan though to himself. Their car didn't slow down, but the station simply seemed to part just as they sped forward across two sets of platforms and rails. None of the commuters just outside Ethan's window seemed the least bit perturbed at being nearly run over by the Wunderground car.

An instant later, the car was plunged into darkness only to emerge a few seconds later in the middle of a huge room where people with forklifts were sorting pallets full of packages.

The car sank right through the floor of this room. Ethan's ears popped during the rapid descent.

"Under the Hudson!" Uncle Bertrand called out with a smile as the car leveled off. After a few moments they rose again. For just a moment Ethan though he could see a patch of blue sky far above them. Just as quickly, they were underground again, slicing across a huge railway terminal. Several passenger trains, platforms and numerous stanchions jumped aside as they passed. Next they traveled through a huge office of some sort, the car forcing its way between rows of cubicles, their occupants oblivious to Wunderground's passage.

Moments later the car again sank abruptly, this time going through the bottom of a large storm drain. Ethan's ears popped again.

"Welcome to Brooklyn, boys!" Bertrand beamed at them as the car rose once again. "And hold on!"

By this time Ethan felt such an admonition unnecessary. Nevertheless he tried to tighten his grip on Bucky and the seat. A second later, the car came to a complete halt. Ethan kept his place with some difficulty. The luggage flew forward and thudded against the front wall of the car. Alec must have lost his grip, for he flew past Ethan and landed in a heap next to the trunks.

"Vinegar Hill Station," the cool voice said. "Please check around your seat for your personal belongings. On behalf of the Wizarding Transit Authority, thank you for riding Wunderground and have a pleasant day."

"Whoa!" Tim exclaimed, still looking white as a sheet. A moment later he added, "Wicked!"

Alec had gotten to his feet, apparently none the worse for his flight. Bucky and Evangeline looked terribly affronted.

"Come on, the car won't wait forever," Bertrand urged, as he picked up his bag. The boys struggled off the car with trunks and owls. Ethan noted that the tiled wall read "Vinegar Hill," although he had an odd feeling they hadn't moved at all since the stations otherwise looked identical.

Uncle Bertrand led the way out through the wall. Ethan brought up the rear again and just as he started to walk through the barrier the car simply vanished behind him. He half expected to find himself back in the Hoboken station hallway. Instead he had to shield his eyes from bright sunshine.

He stood, blinking, and found that they were standing next to an old brick 2-story building at a street corner. The street before them, rutted with potholes, disappeared into the distance in both directions. Across the intersection Ethan could see a short side street with a tree-lined median.

An older car in need of a muffler passed by on the main thoroughfare, then Bertrand led the boys across to the side street. As they went, Ethan could scarcely believe he was in the same city he'd seen from the steamboat dock in Hoboken the previous year. Although he gradually became aware of the sounds of the city--car horns, a blaring boom box somewhere in the distance, the low hum of traffic--the scene before him seemed to have come out of an earlier century.

The houses along the tree-line side street were two-story brick row houses, some in better repair than others. Gas lamps flickered at some of the front doors.

Bertrand began walking up the left side of the street. Ethan and Tim lugged their trunks and owls in his wake. Alec struggled so that Tim volunteered to take his trunk. Alec took Evangeline in exchange.

Halfway down the block, Uncle Bertrand stopped and took a small piece of parchment out of his pocket. Ethan looked at the adjacent houses. Number 11 was a prosperous looking house with neatly trimmed shrubs and an elegant engraved nameplate next to the door. To its right, Number 15 appeared to have been broken up into several apartments. It seemed the most unkempt house on the block, with unmowed grass, a broken basement window and a bicycle abandoned on the walk.

"Each of you must read this," he told them as he handed the parchment to Alec. "Read and memorize."

Alec looked at it for a long moment, then passed it to Tim, who did the same and gave the note to Ethan.

Ethan read the parchment's message, which was written in a flowing hand: "The home of Bertrand and Eilonwy Belanger is located at Number 13 Farrand Square, Vinegar Hill , Brooklyn."

"Uncle Bertrand, there is no Number 13," Ethan said. But when he looked up, a 3-story brownstone had appeared between the two row houses. Standing in the open doorway was his Great Aunt Eilonwy, her white hair shining in the sunlight.

"Welcome, welcome! Now hurry in, all of you! Bertrand for goodness sake, you can get those trunks in here yourself!"

Looking a bit nonplussed, Bertrand gestured at Tim and Ethan to drop their burdens.

"_Locomotor trunks_!" he said with a flick of his wand. Up they floated through the doorway. Bertrand followed and then the boys came up, carrying the owl cages. Eilonwy quickly shut the door and bolted it behind her.

It was cool and quiet inside the Belangers' house. An old hall stand stood along the left side of the entry. Ahead a stairway circled up and out of sight. The hallway curved past the stairs towards the back of the house. A wide arch to the right led into a parlor that faced the street.

Eilonwy beckoned them into the parlor and Bertrand wafted their trunks upstairs. Eilonwy eyed Ethan curiously for a moment.

"You look well, Ethan," she said in her quavering voice. Ethan thought she placed particular emphasis on the word _look_. "You've been through a lot since I last saw you. Are you all right?"

"Erm, yes, Aunt Eilonwy," he answered, although he felt she guessed otherwise.

"How's your artwork coming along?" she asked.

"Oh...I haven't really had much time for it over the summer, you know," he said. It was a lie and he was quite sure she guessed that too; he had simply had no desire to draw or paint since Professor Skryme, the Kaaterskill art teacher, had first betrayed Ethan for Hafgan and then died at the dark wizard's hand at the end of the school term.

"I see," Eilonwy said, one eyebrow arched now. "That's not a talent you should let go to waste, you know."

Ethan, eager to change the subject, turned to the other boys.

"These are my friends, Tim and Alec," he said.

"Of course. Very pleased to meet both of you," Eilonwy said. "I've heard a lot about you, Tim. Both a scholar and an athlete, I believe?"

"Well, I try to keep up with both," Tim answered modestly.

"And Alec, this is all quite new to you, I daresay?" Eilonwy said gently as she turned to the younger boy.

"Yes, ma'am," Alec said. "But I'm sure I'm ready!"

"Good for you!" Eilonwy replied. "Now why don't you all relax for awhile. We don't have any plans for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, we'll go into Manhattan and get your supplies. And the next day, we'll get you to the school steamboat."

The three boys spent the day exploring the Belangers' house from basement to attic. Tim discovered Uncle Bertrand's library and spent hours marveling at the rare and ancient spell books, herbologies and histories. Ethan found a room on the third floor filled with paintings and photographs of Bertrand's ancestors. He had an extensive chat with a French wizard who had perfected an automatically refilled cask of wine in the 17th century. The Muggles of his village, who made one of the most renowned French wines, rewarded him by running him out of town on a rail.

"So, you know, I vent to _Nouvelle France_, where they showed more gratitude and asked fewer questions!" he explained.

Alec followed Aunt Eilonwy around most of the afternoon, continually asking questions about how she managed the daily chores without electricity and other such matters.

The Belangers served the boys a sumptuous dinner that evening. Ethan thought that the dining room, with its dark wood paneling, chandeliers and a sideboard of carved oak, was the most elegant room he'd ever seen. The long table was lined with high-backed cane-seated chairs. Eilonwy sat at one end, Bertrand at the other. As Ethan worked his way through a large slice of roast beef, he studied a portrait that hung on the wall behind Aunt Eilonwy's seat. The image was that of a grey-haired wizard with green eyes behind odd eyeglasses shaped like crescent moons. Ethan couldn't quite place him, but he felt sure he'd seen the man before.

As the meal progressed, Ethan's attention wandered from the dinner-table conversation to the wizard in the portrait. The latter was apparently reading a book, but every now and again Ethan saw him surveying the room.

As dessert appeared on the table--pumpkin bread pudding topped with whipped cream--Aunt Eilonwy began to ask Ethan something about his Herbology class. But at that moment, the wizard in the portrait looked straight at Ethan and winked.

Ethan completely missed whatever his aunt had asked. As he stared open-mouthed at the painting, the wizard stood up and walked out of the scene.

"Ethan? Ethan!" Aunt Eilonwy sounded a bit annoyed. "Where on earth has your mind wandered? You've inherited your father's dreaminess, that's for sure."

Ethan blushed.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Eilonwy," he said. "But I was wondering whose portrait is behind you."

"That, my dear boy, is someone very close to you, though closer to me," his aunt replied. "Llewellyn Lewes Lloyd, my brother and your great-great grandfather."

"You mean the one who owned the book you gave me?" Ethan asked, remembering _Magical Beginnings_, the Belangers' gift for his 11th birthday.

"The same," Eilonwy said as she turned her chair to face the now-empty portrait. "Now where has he gone?"

"Probably off to one of his other likenesses, dear?" Uncle Bertrand suggested. "He never could sit still for long, as I recall."

"You mean people in paintings can just wander around from one portrait to another?" Alec asked, fascinated.

"Well, no, not everyone," Eilonwy explained. "Only those for whom more than one portrait was painted. That's quite a small number to start with. And then each portrait had to be given the transport spell."

"A special permit is required by the Department of Magic for that," Bertrand added. "It's usually reserved for former Secretaries of Magic and the like. Some of the headmasters of Kaaterskill were honored in this way. I'll bet there've been times when the bureaucrats regret that Llew Lloyd was given the privilege."

"What did he do to earn it?" Ethan asked.

"My brother was a brilliant historian," Aunt Eilonwy said. "Certainly the greatest historian of magic in the Americas at the turn of the last century. That's the subject he taught at Kaaterskill--but that wasn't his greatest achievement."

"No, indeed," Bertrand continued. "He was thought eccentric at the turn of the last century because he insisted that a great period of conflict was about to engulf our world--he predicted the rise of a great dark wizard."

"Nearly everyone back when we were young was certain that the world had progressed so far that dark magic could no longer pose a threat to magic folk or Muggles," Eilonwy added. "Llew's studies convinced him the accepted wisdom was folly. Those who had revered his scholarship suddenly turned against him; he was called "eccentric," a sure sign he wasn't to be taken seriously."

"Of course, he did become withdrawn after his wife died," Bertrand said.

"She was his one true love and she died so young," Eilonwy said ruefully. "Died when your great-grandfather Dafydd was born. It _did_ change him, but not the way the papers and the politicos imagined. He lived life more recklessly afterwards; he was braver and more foolish, perhaps."

"Ask old Ang Hsu about him sometime," Bertrand told Ethan. "They fought Chiromatsu together back about 1910. And then when Grindelwald arose, he couldn't stay away from the fight. Volunteered to help Dumbledore, he did, when others half his age stayed home."

"And there he fell," Eilonwy concluded. "Far away from home and family, faithful to his beliefs to the end."

Aunt Eilonwy's voice quavered a bit more than usual now and she dabbed her eyes with her napkin.

Ethan wanted to ask more, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He didn't want to drive Aunt Eilonwy to full-fledged tears.

So the boys sat in silence until Bertrand said, "He was a great man, one of the greatest I've known, and that's saying something. Your Professor Bancroft will cover him in class if he's worth anything as a historian."

Not too much later, the boys retired to their bedroom. Alec was still bubbling over with excitement and wonder at all the things he'd seen.

"Those dishes just disappeared!" he exclaimed. "Where'd they go? Mom won't believe it. And that painting of your ancestor...the way he just walked away was weird! Did you say you were an artist, Ethan?"

"Umm, not really," Ethan replied. "I mean, I can sketch a bit, but I'm not really an artist."

"Don't let him fool you," Tim interjected. "He's the best artist in our class, maybe the school."

Ethan stood looking out the window over Farrand Square, now dark except for the flicker of gas lights. _Tim knows just how good an artist I am_, he thought. _But only because Skryme tortured my painting of him._

When the others had fallen asleep, Ethan lay awake, wondering about Llewellyn Lloyd--how he'd managed to hold on to his beliefs for so long...and how he'd finally met his end.

The next morning was a blur as the boys hurried to get ready to go in to Manhattan for their supplies. Somehow they all managed to be ready at eight when Eilonwy told them they'd be leaving. Off they trooped down the Square to the Wunderground station.

When the Wunderground voice requested their destination, Uncle Bertrand said "Stuyvesant's Alley."

At that instant, Ethan realized he'd left his wand back at the house. If he'd stopped to think for a moment, he might have decided it was safe in the Belangers' unplottable house. But he'd always carried it with him unless he was at home or at Kaaterskill, ever since that first chaotic trip on the _Hoboken Limited_.

So it was that an instinctive panic impelled Ethan to jump up from his seat and head for the door.

"What's up, Ethan?" Tim asked.

"I've left something I need back at the house!" he blurted out as the others stared at him.

"It's too late, the car's about to go," Aunt Eilonwy said, but Ethan had already made it onto the platform.

Just before the doors closed, Bertrand tossed Ethan a key and shouted, "Come along as soon as you can! Remember, it's Stuy"--the doors shut, muffling his voice and Ethan couldn't make out the rest of the name, but he remembered that it was an alley.

A split-second later, there was a tremendous _Whoosh_ and the car propelled itself through the wall.

Ethan turned to go, but stopped when the Wunderground voice sounded again.

"Welcome to Wunderground! A car will arrive shortly. Destination?"

"Ah, I was just going back to get something," Ethan said aloud to the empty room. "I'll be right back."

"Getting something...right back," the voice repeated. "Wunderground looks forward to serving you. Good day!"

Ethan quickly walked through the wall. He looked around. Seeing neither car nor pedestrian he ran across the street and down Farrand Square to Number 13. He slipped the key into the lock, turned it and let himself in.

He hurried up to his room, reached into his trunk and grabbed his wand. As he slid it into his pocket, he felt the amulet there. For a moment he fingered it absent-mindedly and then he took it out and put it in the trunk, which he then closed.

Within another two minutes he'd dashed out of the house, locked it and headed for the entrance to Wunderground. He could just make out the faint "W" on the wall. Out of breath, he managed to gasp "Manhattan bound!"

He passed back through the wall. The platform was exactly as he'd left it, save for the presence of an empty chartreuse Wunderground car. Feeling awkward and alone, Ethan got on and sat down, still catching his breath.

The voice welcomed him and asked for his destination.

"Erm...wait...d-d-Stoovill's Alley" he stuttered.

"Duyvell's Alley?" the voice asked.

Was that right? Ethan hadn't really heard the voice any more clearly than he'd heard Uncle Bertrand minutes earlier. But he knew he wanted to catch up to the others as quickly as possible. _Really, how am I supposed to tell one old Dutch name from another? _ he wondered.

But he said, "Umm, I think so."

"Thank you. Remember to secure all parcels and enjoy your ride."

The car shot out of the Vinegar Hill station, delving its way out of Brooklyn, then under the East River, next turning sharply to the left. Ethan hung on as the car came to a sudden halt.

"Duyvell's Alley," the voice announced. "Please check around your seat for personal belongings. Thank you for riding Wunderground and have a pleasant day."

The doors slid open and Ethan walked out onto the platform. He'd half hoped that the others might be waiting for him. But the station was empty. It was identical to the others Ethan had seen, save that the station name read "Duyvell's Alley in a sinuous script on the wall, the lettering encircled by the image of a large snake that was devouring its own tail. This didn't seem the most promising of signs, especially as Ethan imagined that the snake's eyes were following him. He shook off the feeling and hurried through the glowing "W" on the wall, eager to rejoin the others.


	5. Chapter 5: Duyvell's Alley

_Chapter Five_

_Duyvell's Alley_

Ethan emerged in a narrow, cobblestoned alley. It seemed far too dark. When he looked around, he saw that the upper stories of many buildings protruded over the street, sometimes nearly meeting their neighbors from the other side. This partly explained the gloom that seemed to hang over the alley. He looked about but saw neither the Belangers, Alec or Tim. At first he saw no one at all. Looking to his right, he saw that the street twisted down a hill before curving out of sight. To the right, it climbed so steeply that Ethan could see only a short distance.

There did seem to be shops along the street, but none like those in Old Solomon's Row. Over one a sign shaped like an open book read "Evanescue's Esoterica. The Source of Forbidden Knowledge." As Ethan looked at it, he realized there was a figure standing in a doorway next to the shop.

Hoping this person could direct him to the others, Ethan strode over. The man regarded Ethan curiously. Ethan, for his part, was taken aback by the man's features. His forehead hung over his face much as the buildings did over the alley, his nose was wide and oddly curved as if it had been broken more than once, and fiery eyes glowed under shaggy and unkempt brows.

Intent on finding his way, Ethan ignored the man's alarming features and boldly inquired.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm looking for my uncle, Bertrand Belanger. He should have gotten here just a few minutes before me. Have you seen him?"

The man with the ill-favored countenance looked sharply at Ethan, then turned and read aloud from a poster on the wall, "'_By order of the Department of Magic, all witches and wizards are urged to stay alert at all times. Be wary of strangers and report all loiterers to the authorities at once._' Dark the times be! Better be off, young'un or they'll have you on the boat to Autongamon before you can say _Lumos_!"

Ethan was confused.

"But sir, I'm not loitering...I'm just looking for my uncle."

Before he'd finished speaking, the man had stepped inside and shut the door. Ethan caught a glimpse of him peeking out the window a moment later.

_Whatever his problem is, there must be someone else here who knows Uncle Bertrand_, Ethan thought. He headed further down the lane.

Ethan saw three persons-two men and a boy, it seemed-walking up the street towards him. He steeled himself to ask about his kinsman again. As he looked at the approaching figures, Ethan realized with a jolt that he knew one of them. It was Simon Brocklebank, quite probably the person Ethan least wanted to meet when lost in a dark alley somewhere in wizarding New York.

Simon was talking, looking at the man to his right. Ethan looked about for an escape route, fairly certain that Simon hadn't yet seen him. Across the street he spied a shop with a simple rectangular sign painted, "Graylock and Brand, Magical Artifacts and Artifice." The window held a variety of unusual items. Prominent among them was a brightly-painted Egyptian sarcophagus. Ethan quickly went up to the shop door, opened it and entered.

The street outside seemed lively compared to the quiet gloom of Graylock and Brand's. The stale, dead air inside the shop oppressed Ethan's senses. He glanced around, taking in a display of what seemed to be animal hooves, the skeleton of a salamander, jars containing bats and large spiders suspended in cloudy liquid.

On another shelf sat a jar filled with a purple powder. The jar was labeled, "_Muggle Elimination Formula-rid yourself of troublesome Muggles within 48 hours_."

Ethan looked out the window and to his horror saw Simon and the two men stop at the door to the shop. Ethan now recognized one of the men as well and this added to his growing alarm. Lothar Barghest had met Ethan and his father in Old Solomon's Row a year earlier. Ethan felt that Barghest had tried to look into his mind; later he'd found out that Barghest was Simon's uncle and that he worked for the Department of Magic-even though Ethan's father believed him to be in league with Hafgan and Voldemort.

Ethan moved further inside the shop as he heard the door knob turn. Under other circumstances, he would have found the merchandise on the inner counters more startling-bells jars containing shrunken heads, bottles of poison potions,cursed clothing ("_to send that special someone off in style_"). As it was, he simply wanted to disappear from view as quickly as possible.

He saw the sales counter before him, with a curtained doorway behind it presumably leading to a back office. Just to the left of the counter he spied an enormous woven basket, over half his height and very wide. Strange pictographs were woven into its sides and its domed lid was decorated with a geometric pattern of narrow slits.

With no other options, Ethan lifted the hinged lid and peered into the basket. It appeared empty. Without hesitation he climbed in, hunched down and pulled the lid down over his head, just as he heard footsteps approach the counter.

"Keep your hands in your pockets, Simon," Ethan heard a voice say off to his right.

"Yes, father," Simon replied. "You did promise me a present, remember?"

"Perfectly," his father answered. "However, nothing in this shop would make an appropriate gift for a son of mine."

"Don't sulk, Simon," added a smooth voice that Ethan recognized as Lothar Barghest's. "Didn't I hear something about a racing broom earlier?"

"Yes, Uncle Lothar," Simon answered more brightly.

Ethan found he could see through the slits in the basket lid. He saw Barghest sweep up to the counter in his purple-and-gold robe, top hat and gold-headed cane in hand. Next to him was a tall man with curly silver-gray hair and a pince-nez who wore a gray cloak over pinstriped wizard robes. Even if his wiry curls and gray-blue eyes hadn't given it away, Ethan would have recognized Simon's father from his air of superiority.

"Hem," the elder Brocklebank cleared his throat. "I rather think I should hire you a tutor instead. Perhaps you'd be able to outscore mudblood upstarts that way."

"But all the teachers favor Van der Meulen, father. There's nothing I could do," Simon protested. Ethan could almost hear his rival pout and he smiled to think that Tim was the cause of Simon's discomfort.

Simon's father sniffed disdainfully.

"Nothing you could do? You're a Brocklebank! There is always something you can do, son! Where _is_ old Brand today?" he asked impatiently.

The elder Brocklebank rang the bell that sat on the counter. A shuffling sound could be heard in the back of the shop. The curtains moved and someone emerged. When the man stood behind the corner, Ethan could make out a shock of greasy black hair that nearly hid a pair of sharp hazel eyes set in a craggy face.

"Ah, Mr. Brocklebank, good to see you, sir! And Mr. Barghest, this _is_ an honor!" Brand simpered. "And this must be young Master Brocklebank! To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?"

Barghest pulled something from within his pockets. Ethan saw Simon walk back from the counter to examine the displays.

"We need another of these," Barghest said in a low voice. "And it must be in working order."

Ethan could just see Brand as he leaned over the counter. The shopkeeper's face had gone pale at the sight of whatever Barghest had shown him.

"That may be a tall order," he said. "They're rare enough to begin with and this one is extraordinarily fine."

"It needn't match exactly," Barghest added. "as long as they work together."

"I'll have to see what I can do," Brand said doubtfully.

"I'll wager old Graylock would have had one in stock," Barghest observed coolly. "But if you don't think you can provide one, I'll go elsewhere."

"That won't be necessary," Brand answered stiffly.

"Good enough," Barghest replied. "I'll be back for it in two weeks. And you needn't fear any inquiries from the Department about this little transaction."

Ethan could see Simon perusing the merchandise on the table opposite his hiding place. His eyes glittered greedily as he viewed a case of vials marked "Potent Poisons." Simon next spied a fine mahogany case propped up to reveal its contents, which Ethan thought looked horribly like a half-dozen human eyeballs cushioned in velvet. Simon whistled to himself and Brand glanced over at him.

"Ah, Master Brocklebank has a most discerning eye for one so young," the shopkeeper exclaimed. "A fine collection of Raven Stones-a sure way to blind victims to your presence and their loss!"

"Come away from that, Simon," Mr. Brocklebank interjected sharply.

"Yes, father," Simon replied, his voice tinged with resentment as he turned away from the grisly display.

"I should hope that no Brocklebank would need to resort to the tools of thieves and pirates," his father continued coldly. "But perhaps that's all you will amount to, after all. Now Brand, if _I_ can have your attention for a moment, there are a few items I'd like you to dispose of for me."

Simon's father slid a piece of parchment onto the counter. Brand bent over the counter, examining the list carefully.

At length he looked up and spoke.

"You wish to consign these items?"

"I don't wish my name connected with them," the elder Brocklebank replied. "I'm sure you understand that it could prove inconvenient in the current climate. I wish to sell them outright. They're at my country place. Can you come out to Brocklebank Hall next week to pick them up?"

"Certainly, Mr. Brocklebank."

"Good, I'll see you then," Brocklebank said. "And Lothar will be back in two weeks. Come, Simon, we're leaving."

"Yes, father," Simon said, his eyes downcast as he followed the two men towards the front door. Ethan almost felt a twinge of pity for Simon, but he suppressed it when he thought of the repulsive artifacts that had led to the rebuke.

The three of them disappeared from Ethan's view. He heard their footsteps approach the front of the shop.

"Always good to do business with you, gentlemen!" Brand called after them. "Good day to you!"

Ethan heard the door open and shut again.

For the first time he realized exactly how cramped his hiding place really was. His knees and shoulders ached; his forehead was slick with sweat. He couldn't move, for Brand was still bent over the counter, muttering to himself.

"Another of these in working order, eh, _Mister_ Barghest? We can do that, can't we? No inquiries from the Department? What are you playing at, I wonder? And as for you, Cassius Brocklebank, a Raven Stone would be perfect for one of your progeny."

With that, Brand stood up and walked through the curtain towards his back office. As soon as Ethan was sure the shopkeeper was out of sight, he popped the lid off the basket and quickly got out. Looking around and seeing no one, he headed for the door. He navigated through the crowded aisles and reached the front window. The street outside seemed as deserted as before.

As he reached for the door, a firm hand clamped down on his left shoulder.

Ethan gasped with pain and surprise. There, standing next to him, was the stooped form of Mr. Brand.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his face full of suspicion.

"No, thank you," Ethan answered quickly, wrenching his arm away. Saying the first thing that came into his mind, he continued, "I'm just looking for my uncle, Bertrand Belanger. You haven't seen him, have you?"

Brand stared at Ethan furiously.

"No!" he snarled. "Now, get out!"

The shopkeeper opened the door and Ethan left hurriedly. As the door slammed behind him, Ethan pondered his next step.

He decided to head up the street this time, climbing the steep hill. As he reached the top, he saw that the narrow street continued on level ground towards an intersection some 2 or 3 blocks ahead.

"Still looking for your uncle, are you?" a gruff voice sounded nearby.

Ethan glanced to his right and saw the oddly-distorted face of the first man he'd met in Duyvell's Alley. The man was now seated on a three-legged stool with a sketchbook on an easel before him.

Ethan found this as curious as the man's appearance. His curiousity, coupled with his desire to find Uncle Bertrand and the others, trumped the aversion he felt to the ill-favored stranger.

"Erm, yes, sir," Ethan said as he peered over the man's shoulders at a sketch of the streetscape before them, which he deemed a fine rendition. The alley's shops, signs and passersby stood out in fine detail. The few people in the scene moved just as their models did. At the bottom left appeared a bold signature: "**SWOPE**."

With a start, Ethan realized that one of the moving figures was a miniature version of himself as he walked up the alley.

"Ah, Mr. Swope," Ethan said hesitantly. "Would you mind taking me out of your picture. I mean, it's really good and all, but I'd rather..."

"Very perceptive," the artist replied. "And very wise. Not that I had any dastardly designs on your image, Mr. Lloyd. But...as you wish!"

With a swish of his wand, Swope muttered "_Relinquite!_" Instantly, the small Ethan disappeared from the picture.

"Thanks," Ethan said. "But how do you know my name?"

"That's no secret," the artist explained. "You say your uncle is Bertrand Belanger. I happen to know that Mr. Belanger has no brothers or sisters. But his wife, who is a Lloyd, had one nephew. You're too young to be of that generation, of course, but it was a reasonable guess."

"Actually, he's my dad's great-uncle," Ethan said. "You know him, then?"

"Oh, yes, Bert and I go back a long time," Swope answered. "Now if you want to find him, I suggest you walk briskly up to that intersection up there. That's Stuyvesant's Alley. Looking for him down Duyvell's was rather foolish. He'd never go there openly."

"I couldn't help it!" Ethan protested. "The Wunderground took me there."

"I see. Now, I didn't mean to be unfriendly back there, but I didn't think it wise for you to be wandering around asking anyone you met for Bert," Swope said. "Hmm...if I'd known just how lost you were, I'd have taken you by the arm and dragged you out of there. Say, have you spoken to anyone else about your uncle?"

"Only Mr. Brand," Ethan answered truthfully.

"Brand? Why on earth?" Swope looked sharply at Ethan with his wild eyes. "Were you in his shop?"

"Well, yes, I was hiding from someone," Ethan said, taken aback. "A boy I know from school. When he left, Brand saw me leaving the shop. I asked him if he'd seen Uncle Bertrand, just to get away."

"'Twill be interesting to see what the old scoundrel makes of that!" Swope said darkly.

"He didn't seem very happy about it," Ethan offered.

"I'd guess not," the artist muttered. "But now, be on your way. You'll find your uncle in Stuyvesant's Alley, no doubt. Steer clear of this alley, my boy!"

"Ok," Ethan agreed. He started to leave, but paused to ask one more question. "What are you doing down here, anyway?"

"Sketchbook and canvas led me here," Swope said mysteriously as he returned to his work. "Now, run along!"

Ethan hurried up the last stretch of Duyvell's Alley and reached the intersection at last. As he looked around him he felt relief and wonderment. This street _did_ resemble Old Solomon's Row, although it seemed about five times bigger and brighter. There were dozens of shops, selling everything from wands and broomsticks to magical cosmetics and candies. He could see a white-pillared building a block away. Probably a branch of Gringott's, the wizarding bank, Ethan thought. But his attention was fixed directly across the street at the tallest building in sight. Its cast iron facade-which rose at least six stories-featured figures of witches, wizards, dragons and owls. Banners fluttered from the facade as if from the battlements of a castle and a banner between the first and second floors read "_Cortelyou's Wizarding Department Store - an Emporium for All Your Magical Needs._"

Ethan read the smaller banners as they fluttered in the breeze: "_Huge Selection - Bodacious Broomsticks - Fantastic Familiars - Wondrous Wands - Scrumptious Sweets - Helpful Housewares - Invaluable Ingredients._"

As Ethan gawked at Cortelyou's, he felt a sudden desire to explore every department and fulfill undefined needs of which he'd only just become aware. A sudden scream-dainty but nevertheless a scream-interrupted his reverie. Ethan looked down from the banners. Straight across from him stood Aunt Eilonwy and Uncle Bertrand, Tim and Alec beside them.

Ethan hurried across the street and Bertrand fairly dragged him onto the sidewalk.

"Where ever have you been, you rapscallion?" he demanded, although there was a look of relief on his round face. "Not lurking around Duyvell's Alley, I hope!"

"We've been ever so worried!" Aunt Eilonwy added.

"I couldn't remember the name of the street!" Ethan explained. "And Wunderground dropped me there." He proceeded to tell them about his misadventures in Duyvell's Alley.

"And finally some artist-the strangest man I've ever seen-pointed me this way and told me I'd find you over here," he concluded.

"Face looked like he'd been run over by a carriage?" Bertrand inquired.

"Well, kind of, yeah," Ethan replied.

"Uriel Swope!" Uncle Bertrand exclaimed. "Considering who you might have run into in Duyvell's, you were most fortunate."

"He said he knew you," Ethan added.

"Oh yes, I worked with him ages ago. Haven't seen him in years," Uncle Bertrand said. Then he changed the subject. "You saw Lothar Barghest and Cassius Brocklebank at Graylock and Brand's?"

"Yeah," Ethan told him. "Barghest wanted to buy something and Simon's dad wanted to sell something."

Uncle Bertrand frowned. "Lothar Barghest is the slipperiest devil ever to work for the Department of Magic. I wish I knew what he was up to!"

"That is no longer your worry, Bertrand Belanger!" Eilonwy interjected. "You are, Merlin be praised, retired! I'm quite certain the BMI has competent people watching him."

"Oh, you're right, of course," Bertrand agreed with a sigh. "Still, it's good to know that Brocklebank is worried."

"Now we really _must_ get these boys their books," Eilonwy said firmly. She started down the street, away from the Emporium.

"Aren't we going in there?" Ethan asked.

"Where? Cortelyou's?" Eilonwy asked. "Certainly not! Though they do have fabulous window displays at Christmas. No, first we shall go to Gringott's and then to a sensible book store-Volckert and Slate's, I should think. After that, we'll get young Mr. Evans a wand and an owl."

Ethan found the New York office of Gringott's almost identical to the Milwaukee branch, if larger. None of the boys had vaults in New York, so they were spared a hair-rising ride to the caverns below. Alec left the bank wide-eyed after he exchanged his muggle money for galleons, knuts and sickles, for he'd had his first encounter with goblins.

At Volckert and Slate's Bookshop, they procured their books for the new year. Then Bertrand took Alec to get his wand, while Eilonwy treated Ethan to ice cream at Dolph's Delights. As they finished their pumpkin sundaes, Alec and Uncle Bertrand joined them. Alec looked especially pleased with himself. While Bertrand got him a sundae, he showed off his new wand.

"Willow, eleven inches," he told them proudly. "And it was the very first one I tried!"

"That's great, Alec!" Tim said. "But don't try any cyclone charms with it just yet, OK?"

Alec blushed, but joined in as Ethan and Tim laughed.

"Yo, Van der Meulen!" someone called from the counter. "And Lloyd! Look what the cat dragged into the city!"

"Hey, Gibson, good to see you!" Tim replied, as Marcus Gibson ambled over with a large satchel of books in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. Marcus was also a second-year Bradbury student. Kyle Stuart, another classmate, followed him.

Trailing them was a younger girl with curly black hair, light brown skin and a face that showed a marked resemblance to Marcus.

The older boys traded hand shakes and introductions were made all around.

"Ethan and Tim, this is my sister, Talitha," Marcus said. But the girl had disappeared behind Marcus and Kyle. Ethan saw her peeking around her brother's shoulder.

"It's OK, Tally, he won't bite," Marcus said in mock exasperation. To the others he said, "She's been talking about you all summer, Ethan. Got a bit irritating, really."

Ethan didn't know quite how to respond.

"Nice to meet you," he finally said, blushing. To Marcus, he added, "What on earth did you tell her about me?"

"Oh, nothing, just the truth," Marcus explained. "She's heard of your parents, of course...everyone has. And I told her how you got past a Sphinx, a labyrinth, a boggart and a mad professor and kept Hafgan from getting the Talisman. Oh, she's going to be a first-year, by the way."

Ethan didn't really want to relive the end of his first year at Kaaterskill and he was embarrassed to hear that Marcus had been portraying him as some sort of hero to his little sister. So he changed the subject.

"Oh, yeah, and this is Alec Evans," he added. "He's a first-year, too."

"Hi, everybody," Alec said, looking a bit dazed. "Marcus and Kyle and Tally."

"What have you been up to?" Ethan asked Marcus, looking curiously at a bag that seemed to be full of merchandise unlikely to be on the required reading list at Kaaterskill. Something fluffy and pink was squeaking at the top of the bag.

"Oh, we just picked up some new gag stuff from Cortelyou's-imported from England," Marcus told him. "New supplier, they said. Mostly fun stuff, though some of them could be very useful in a pinch, too."

"Well, let us have a look," Tim said eagerly.

"Sorry, no can do. Wouldn't want to give any of it away yet. Besides, we've got to keep moving," Marcus said. "We're staying with Kyle's folks on the Upper East Side. See you on the boat tomorrow?"

"Definitely!" Tim exclaimed as the others departed. "Don't think you can keep your secrets forever, though."

Not long after Aunt Eilonwy and Uncle Bertrand herded Ethan, Tim and Alec back to the Wunderground station, weighed down with their books and supplies. After a decidedly uneventful trip back to Vinegar Hill and another delicious dinner at Number Thirteen, Farrand Square, Ethan headed up to bed. At first, nervous anticipation of his return to Kaaterskill kept him awake. But in just a few minutes, utter exhaustion overtook him and he slept like a log.


	6. Chapter 6: The Phantom Ship

Chapter Six

The Phantom Ship

Next morning, Aunt Eilonwy made sure everyone awoke early enough to have a good breakfast before heading back to Hoboken to board the steamboat _Kaaterskill_, which carried the entire student body back to school.

"Get up, sleepyheads!" she called through the door. "Remember, the boat leaves at 9 o'clock sharp!"

Ethan groped for his glasses, put them on and looked groggily at his wristwatch. He thought it seemed much too dark to be six in the morning. He looked around the room. Tim still looked to be asleep, but Alec was already up and dressed, looking characteristically excited.

"This is it, then, eh, Ethan?" he asked. "First the boat, then the wagons, then the Welcoming Ceremony, right?"

"Ah, yes, Alec, that sounds right," Ethan said sleepily.

"Too bad it's raining!" Alec exclaimed.

Ethan had pulled the curtain aside and looked outside. Dark clouds hung over Farrand Square and torrents of rain were falling from the sky. _No wonder it's so dark_, Ethan thought.

He and Alec managed to wake Tim, who seemed rather cross with them for doing so. He gradually regained his usual good-natured demeanor after a shower and a large breakfast.

They gathered their belongings. The boys' trunks weighed more due to the addition of their textbooks, but everything fit neatly. For the first time, Alec had to balance a trunk in one hand and Robespierre's owl cage in the other.

As they stood ready to leave in the front hall of Number 13, Great Aunt Eilonwy fussed over each of them, Ethan more than the rest.

"Do try to stay dry, boys!" she exhorted them. "And you Ethan, do take care of yourself this year. And don't neglect your painting-that's a talent not to be wasted!"

"I'll try, Aunt Eilonwy," he replied dutifully, although without conviction.

Before they headed out the door, Uncle Bertrand put an _Impervious_ charm on each of them to ward off the rain. As the four of them hurried up the square to the Wunderground station, rain pouring down around them, Ethan found it strange-pleasantly strange-that they and their belongings remained quite dry.

Bertrand made quite certain that there was no repeat of Ethan's misadventure the previous day. The ride on Wunderground was a blur as usual, but they all reached their intended destination together.

When the Wunderground car screeched to a halt at the Hoboken terminal, Alec tumbled off first, nearly pulled down by his heavy trunk. Ethan and Tim followed, each managing to balance owl cages and trunks. Tim found a baggage cart and put his luggage and Alec's aboard. Ethan slung his trunk up, then placed Bucky's cage on the end of the cart. The barn owl hooted at him and turned his head around to get a good view of the platform.

Tim pushed the cart, Ethan and Alec walking alongside. Up the ramp towards the pier they went. Uncle Bertrand followed along behind, apparently lost in thought.

Ethan remembered getting his first breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline when he'd arrived on the sunny pier the previous September.

This time they had to stop before they reached the pier. A crowd was milling about just inside the terminal. One look out at the pier told Ethan why. In place of the bright sunshine he remembered, dark clouds glowered low over the city, which was shrouded in mist. Sheets of rain cascaded onto the pier. He could just make out the white form of the steamer _KAATERSKILL_ rocking alongside the dock, the smoke from her stacks mingling with the mists floating down from the low clouds.

"Bad luck it's so awful out there!" a familiar voice called from Ethan's right. He turned and there was Anne Findlay, her long red braids contrasting with a yellow rain slicker that looked about two sizes too big for her.

"Hi, Anne!" Ethan and Tim chimed together.

"Glad to see you two made it this far!" she said as she pulled her trunk over to their cart. "Mind if I add this to your pile?"

"Not at all," Tim said.

Ethan noticed that Alec was giving him a nervous look.

"Oh, by the way, Anne Findlay, this is Alec Evans," he said, gesturing at Alec. "He's a first-year."

"Pleased to meet you, Alec," Anne said, extending her hand.

"Hi, Anne," Alec said shyly, shaking her hand quickly. "I've heard about you."

Anne gave Ethan and Tim a bemused look.

"I see," she said. "Is that good or bad?"

"Oh, only good!" Alec answered, flushing.

"And I don't think you've met my great-uncle, Bertrand Belanger," Ethan added.

"Miss Findlay, I'm delighted!" Bertrand exclaimed as they shook hands. "I've also heard about you and I assure you I have heard only good things as well."

Then he turned to Ethan and the other boys.

"Well, I've seen you safely here," he said. "And here I leave you. Have a good year, all of you! And Ethan, do try not to get into any more trouble than usual!"

"I'll try not to!" Ethan answered sincerely as he shook his great-uncle's hand. "And thank you!"

As Bertrand disappeared back into the terminal, the three boys and Anne queued up and dragged their luggage and owls aboard _KAATERSKILL_. They found a sheltered spot to drop their burdens.

As they turned to find seats, they were greeted by Marcus Gibson, who was with Tally and their father, a tall black man, nearly bald with a beard and thoughtful, brown eyes.

Before any further introductions could be made, Ethan heard an unpleasantly familiar voice behind him.

"Well, if it isn't last year's hero," sneered Simon Brocklebank. "I suppose you'll be expecting everyone to bow when you pass now."

"Leave him alone!" Alec shouted vehemently at Brocklebank. To Ethan's surprise, Tally Gibson chimed in, "Yeah, he didn't ask for any of that to happen!"

"Oh, look, Lloyd, you've got yourself a little disciple...and a girl friend!" Brocklebank said with malicious glee.

"Come now, Simon, no petty arguments!" Ethan recognized Cassius Brocklebank as he came up behind his son.

Simon's expression changed to one of sullen obedience as his father peered through his pince-nez at Ethan and his friends.

" Mr. Lloyd, at last," Mr. Brocklebank said. "I've heard and read so much about you. And of course your parents' exploits _are_ legendary."

Ethan briefly shook the elder Brocklebank's proffered hand.

"Are they here to see you off?" Mr. Brocklebank inquired, surveying the crowd. "No? Pity they keep such a low profile! But let's see, this must be...Mr. Van der Meulen?"

He glanced at Simon, who nodded silently.

"A quidditch star and scholar already, I understand, and muggle-born to boot. Remarkable!"

Mr. Brocklebank's glance fell upon Marcus and Tally and then on their father.

"Jairus Gibson," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I might have guessed these were your offspring, associating with muggles and fugitives."

"Who my children associate with is their business," Mr. Gibson answered coolly.

"Though guarding your family's good name is yours," the elder Brocklebank added. "But perhaps you have enough to do keeping them clothed and fed."

Ethan thought Jairus Gibson looked ready to leap at Brocklebank's father. But he evidently thought better of it. He turned to Marcus and Tally and said, "Come on, then, let's get you settled before the boat leaves."

As the Gibsons departed, Mr. Brocklebank held up a cloth bag full of books.

"Little girl, you dropped this," he called. Tally took it from him without a word, then followed her father and brother toward the main cabin.

Cassius Brocklebank turned back to Ethan.

"Well, good luck to you," he said sharply. "I daresay you'll need it."

With that, he headed towards the gangplank, Simon in his wake.

As Tim watched them go, he sighed.

"Well, at least we know where Simon gets his good manners."

"I suppose so," Ethan muttered darkly. "Though Simon's not nearly as refined a bully as his dad. And even his dad's nowhere near as slippery as that uncle Lothar of his."

"Just give him time," Anne added.

"Can we go inside, please?" Alec asked. Ethan had almost forgotten the new boy was with them.

"Yeah, Alec, let's do that. Sorry," Ethan answered. "Oh, and thanks, Alec." As they headed through the doors into the main cabin, he added, "But really, you shouldn't stick your neck out for me. It'll only get you in trouble. Just ask Tim and Anne."

"Don't listen to him, Alec," Tim said. "I know I can get into trouble perfectly well without Ethan's help."

"Me, too," Anne agreed.

"Well, I'll only stick my neck out when I really think I should," Alec concluded as the doors swung shut behind them.

The Gibsons were just to the right of the doors. Mr. Gibson was evidently giving Marcus and Tally a last goodbye before leaving the ship. As he turned to go, he reached out to shake Ethan's hand.

"Mr. Lloyd, delighted to meet you!" he said enthusiastically. "Sorry for that unpleasantness just now. I'm afraid I must rush off before I get carried off to school with you. I look forward to having a real talk with you someday. Do give my best to your parents!"

"Sure will," Ethan replied, a bit surprised at Mr. Gibson's greeting. "Thanks!"

"Mr. Van der Meulen, Miss Findlay, charmed to meet you, too. And Mr. Evans, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Alec replied.

"Good luck! Don't let the Brocklebanks of the world trouble you!"

"No, sir!"

With that, Jairus Gibson headed out the doors and hurried towards the gangplank.

"Why don't you sit here with us?" Marcus offered, pointing to the long bench behind them. "Looks like the rest of the cabin's full."

Once they settled, Ethan asked Marcus, "Are you both OK? Sounds like Simon's dad likes your father as much as Simon likes me!"

"Oh, that," Marcus said dismissively. "He's just mad at Dad because of his work at the Department of Magic."

"What does he do?" Tim asked.

"He's in Magical Law Enforcement," Marcus told him.

"Your dad's an Auror?" Anne asked. "That's so cool. You never told us that!"

Marcus shifted in his seat and Ethan thought he looked uncomfortable.

"Well, no, he's not an Auror," he said. "Not everyone in Law Enforcement is an Auror, actually."

"Oh," said Anne, sounding a bit embarrassed. "What does he do, then?"

"He's in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Dark Artifacts," Marcus said. "Pretty important, really, but it's mostly behind the scenes...not many people know about it."

"I bet I know why Cassius Brocklebank doesn't like him," Ethan said. "Mr. Brocklebank was trying to get rid of a bunch of things at Graylock and Brand's yesterday."

"I wish Dad had heard about that," Marcus exclaimed after Ethan detailed what he'd overheard in Duyvell's Alley. "If he could put someone like Brocklebank away, he might finally get a promotion."

"Well, you could send him an owl," Anne suggested.

"I guess I could, if it's OK with Ethan," Marcus said. "But I don't know, Dad says a lot of owls are being intercepted lately."

"Really?" Ethan asked with concern. "Who's doing that?"

"Well that's just it, no one seems to know," Marcus continued. "If it's the Department, no one's admitting it. But if it's _not_ the Department..."

Marcus didn't finish the sentence. Tim did it for him.

"Then things are a lot worse than anyone's letting on."

Marcus nodded. Silence descended on the group for a few moments, broken by a nearby voice.

"Did you save me a seat?" Kyle Stuart asked.

"Sure Kyle, come and join the party," Anne said.

"Party? Looks more like a wake," Kyle remarked, but he sat down with them anyway.

"Oh, not really," Tim said. "Hey, are you and Marcus going to tell us what you got at Cortelyou's?"

Kyle exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Marcus.

"Well, we can't reveal all our secrets, not yet," he said. "But I can say that you should expect to see some real spectacles at Kaaterskill this year."

"Did you clean out Dr. McGuffin's stock of fireworks?" Ethan asked.

"No, this stuff is much more excellent," Marcus said. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, _imported_, mind you. Like nothing you've ever seen."

"Not just fireworks, either," Kyle added.

"Sounds like you'll be spending a lot of quality time with Mr. Beadle," Tim commented. He referred to Kaaterskill's Keeper of Buildings, who was charged with maintaining order in the school corridors.

"Only if he can catch us, Van der Meulen," Kyle said impishly. "I can guarantee we'll make that difficult."

"Well, I can't wait to see," Anne said. "But right now, I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

With that, they all headed to the ship's cafeteria.

After lunch, Ethan decided he had to go out on deck for some fresh air. The weather had only gotten worse. The old steamboat pitched and rolled in the rough, wind-blown waters of the Hudson. Tim and Anne came along without much enthusiasm, especially since Uncle Bertrand's _Impervious_ charm had worn off when he'd departed back in Hoboken.

"We're just going to get soaked out there," Tim complained.

Alec, however, was starting to look somewhat green. He fairly sprinted out the door after Ethan.

They weren't the only ones out on deck. A fair number of students had come out, many looking nearly as seasick as Alec.

"_KAATERSKILL_ " had just steamed under a graceful bridge over a narrow place in the river. They entered a gorge. Mountains seemed to spring up almost straight out of the water on either side, leaving just enough room for a railroad and a highway. In a few spots, the mountains retreated from the riverside. Muggle villages hove into sight on the east bank, while on the west the great military academy rose, barely visible through the fog.

Ethan, Tim and Anne huddled under the overhang outside the cabin but this provided little shelter, for the wind was driving the rain almost horizontally. Alec was at the rail, hanging on as if he expected to be blown away at any moment.

"Do you think we should go see if he's OK?" Tim asked, gesturing towards the rail.

" I suppose we should," Ethan allowed. "Do you think we _all_ have to go?"

Anne harrumphed.

Tim laughed, "Of course not, Ethan. I'll go see how he is. You just stay nice and dry here." Then he made his way across the deck to Alec, who looked up when Tim put a hand on his shoulder.

"He does look pretty miserable," Anne said.

" Yeah," Ethan agreed. "What a first trip! And he still has the wagon ride _and_ the dowsing rod to deal with. And the feast, if anyone has an appetite for it by..."

Ethan stopped short, for Tim and others on the deck were gaping at something off the bow of "_KAATERSKILL_".

" What _is_ that funny glow?" Anne said.

"It almost looks like a ball of fire on the river," said someone who'd just come out the door from the main cabin. Ethan and Anne turned to see Marcus and Tally Gibson and Kyle Stuart.

"Hi, Marcus!" Ethan said. "Let's go get a better look. It's not likely we'll get any wetter out by the rail."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Tim said as Ethan, Anne and Marcus joined him. "Almost like St. Elmo's Fire or something."

By this time the ship's rails were lined with students, most of whom weren't even slightly seasick, although all were soaked to the skin. Despite this they were gawking at the glow that seemed to be shadowing "_KAATERSKILL_"'s path up the Hudson.

Now that Ethan had a clear view, he was amazed. For there, not too far off the starboard bow, he saw not merely an orange glow on the river, but a full-rigged sailing ship. Ethan had never seen a large sailing vessel in person, but the vision before him reminded him of pictures of pirate ships in story books he'd gotten out of the library at home. He could see the figures of its crew moving about the deck. Three masts arose from her stout deck, but something didn't seem right about her course. Ethan could feel the wind coming down from the north, but the other ship seemed to be sailing _against_ the wind.

Yet Ethan barely noticed this oddity. For as he gazed at the ship, it burst into flames from stem to stern, fire rising up the masts and spars. And he heard an unearthly, wailing cry, apparently from the crew.

"Oh, no, she's on fire!" he cried.

"What's on fire?" Tim asked, giving Ethan a sharp look.

"The other ship over there," Ethan said, pointing. "Can't our captain do anything for them?"

"What are you talking about?" Anne asked.

"The ship...what everyone's been staring at!" Ethan said. "Over there!"

"Ethan, there's no ship out there," Tim said. "Just a really strange glow on the water."

"Stop joking, Tim! Marcus, Kyle, you see that ship on fire over there, don't you?" Ethan asked, unable to fathom why Tim and Anne would make light of such an emergency.

" Sorry, man, I don't see anything but a really bright orange light flickering," Marcus answered. Ethan looked at Kyle, who just shrugged and added, "That's all _I_ see, Ethan."

"Oh come on!" Ethan fairly shouted in exasperation. "The crew over there's in trouble! This is no time for joking around."

He could still hear the weird cries from the burning ship across the water. The sound chilled him to the bone. Although he couldn't distinguish words, he was sure the sailors were trying to tell him something.

"Ethan, no one is joking around!" Anne said, sounding annoyed. "Unless you are...there isn't any ship out there!"

"Fine, then, I'll go find the Captain or someone and tell him myself," Ethan exclaimed. "Maybe I'm not the only one around here who needs glasses!"

He turned and looked about the deck, which was crowded with students, all looking in the direction of the burning three-master, but apparently none actually seeing it. He wondered how one found the captain of "_KAATERSKILL_." Could he just wander up to the bridge? What if the crew didn't see the other ship either? He'd just made up his mind to try when he heard a hoarse voice behind him.

"You're not crazy, Ethan. I can see the ship!"

It was Alec, who'd mostly been looking down while everyone else was staring into the distance.

"What's that, Alec?" Anne asked. "What do you see?"

"It's like Ethan said. An old sailing ship, every bit of it's on fire. And that sound, there must be ghosts on board. Yeah, it sounds like ghosts!"

"So you can hear them too?" Ethan asked.

"Oh yes! Have you ever heard anything that awful?" Alec answered. The younger boy was still looking rather ill and very serious. "Is that what a banshee sounds like?"

It was Tim's turn to be confused.

"Hey, if you two can see this, this fiery ship, how come we can't?" Tim asked.

"No idea," Ethan said, looking out again across the water. He'd noticed that although the fire seemed to completely envelope the ship, it didn't seem to consume any of the wood.

"I don't think you can help them, Ethan," Alec said gravely. "I think they're all ghosts...the sailors and their ship. I wonder what they did to end up that way."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked, interested.

"Well they must have done something pretty awful to be stuck on a burning ship forever," Alec answered, sounding increasingly excited. "I've read about stuff like this. Maybe they were pirates. They must have been cursed!"

"Hmm, I suppose so," Ethan mused, as he continued to watch the blazing vessel. Gradually he began to see the sailors more clearly. At last he could make out words in the din carrying across the water.

"Remember my warning, Ethan Lloyd! Danger draws nearer to you with each mile that passes!"

Ethan recognized the voice, despite the distance, despite the rain, despite the wailing of the other sailors in his ears. It was the ghost of Jan van Dam. Ethan knew that the ship must be the ill-fated _Chimaera_ of his dream.

He wanted to shout across the waters, to ask again what danger he was in, but he thought better of it. _After all_, he thought, _my friends already think I'm half-mad because I can see that ship. They'll know I'm crazy if I start talking to invisible ghost sailors_.

He looked quickly at Alec to see whether he had also heard Van Dam's words. The younger boy's face was scrunched up as if he was trying to make sense of the sounds.

"I almost thought I heard them say something," Alec said, disappointed. "I just couldn't quite make out the words."

Tim looked sharply at Ethan.

" Well, did _you_ hear anything?" he asked.

Ethan hesitated for a split-second. Then, avoiding Tim's inquiring look, he said, "No, nothing at all. But that ship _is_ there!"

The rain had been coursing down ever harder as they had gazed at the orange glow that Ethan knew was the flaming ship. As soon as Ethan answered Tim's question, a huge bolt of lightning crossed the sky into the river, followed almost immediately by a deafening peel of thunder.

Everyone jumped. Most of the students streamed back into the ship's cabin.

Ethan, though, was momentarily transfixed by the lightning, which he saw strike the phantom ship's deck. His companions had turned to rush inside, but for a long moment he couldn't move. Another flash of lightning struck the ship.

Ethan glanced towards the cabin and saw that Tim had stopped halfway to the door.

"Come on, Ethan, get in here!" he shouted urgently. "This is dangerous!"

"REMEMBER MY WARNING!" Van Dam's voice carried across the waves again.

Ethan turned back towards the ship, still blazing but apparently undamaged by the lightning.

The next instant a third bolt shot down from the sky and struck the ship's main mast. The mast burst like a Fourth of July firework, sending streams of light upwards and outward in great arcs. Ethan stared. He heard one more shout of "REMEMBER!" and then saw the ship blink out as the sparks rose all around it.

Tim had seen the light show even if he could not see the ship. He took one step back towards Ethan and again yelled, "Come on!"

But Ethan's eyes were turned up towards the shower of sparkling light that had now begun to descend. Most of the sparks landed in the river with a hissing sound. But a few outlying streamers headed towards _Kaaterskill_. Ethan watched them approach; they seemed to be falling in slow motion.

"Look out!"

Ethan heard Tim shout, but too late. Ethan felt as if the streaming lights had not just hit him but entwined themselves around him. There was a blinding flash and he knew no more.

* * *

When Ethan regained consciousness, he knew he was no longer aboard the steamboat. He no longer felt the rocking of the boat on the river. Also, he was in a bed under a warm blanket. He felt groggy but comfortable except for a stinging pain in his right forearm.

"He'll be coming around soon, Professor." Ethan recognized the voice of Miss Abernathy, the school nurse.

He cautiously opened one eye. Without his glasses, Ethan had only a fuzzy view of the two faces above him.

"Do you have any better idea of what happened to him?" said a second voice. Even in his half-conscious state Ethan recoiled a bit, for he knew this voice belonged to Professor Tiverton, his least favorite teacher and master of Tenskwatawa House, to which Simon Brocklebank belonged.

"No, it's very confusing," Abernathy answered and Ethan could tell she was concerned. "His friend Van der Meulen said he was struck by lightning, but he shows no sign of electrical shock."

"That doesn't surprise me," Tiverton said dismissively. "His friend's muggle-born. Wouldn't know the difference between lightning and magical light to save his soul!"

"Then you believe Lloyd was hit by some sort of curse, Professor?"

"Not necessarily a curse," Tiverton replied. "But some sort of magic, no doubt. Nothing else could have left that mark on his arm."

" What do you think _that_ means? Abernathy asked. "Shall I try to remove it?"

" I don't know what, if anything, it _means_," Tiverton said impatiently. "But it's unlikely you could remove it and it may be dangerous to try."

Ethan groaned and opened his eyes as Tiverton lifted his right forearm.

"Ah, Mr. Lloyd, back at last," the transfiguration teacher said wryly. "Couldn't manage to start the new year without making a splash, I see."

Ethan now opened both eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Without his glasses, Ethan's vision of Abernathy and Tiverton was fuzzy and surreal. He felt dizzy. He looked down at his right arm and saw, quite clearly, a quartered circle, no more than three-quarters of an inch in diameter, red and raw, a couple of inches above his wrist.

"Where am I? What happened?" he asked slowly.

" You are in a chamber on the 2nd floor of the Wild Goose Tavern at the Landing," Tiverton said. "As to what happened, we were hoping _you_ might enlighten us."

Ethan groped for an explanation. The memory of the ghostly ship and Van Dam's warning flooded back into his mind. But he had no desire to share it with Professor Tiverton. Ethan had never trusted Tiverton and the teacher had made it quite clear he detested Ethan. For most of the previous school year, Ethan had suspected Tiverton was helping Hafgan to regain the Talisman of Table Mountain. Ethan had discovered this was not true, but this hadn't improved his opinion of the transfiguration teacher. If he was going to tell anyone what he'd seen, he wanted it to be the master of his own house.

"I want to speak to Professor Bancroft," he said quietly but firmly.

Tiverton snorted.

"Professor Bancroft has more important matters to attend to than a 2nd year's fainting spell," he said caustically. "At present, he's preparing to lead our new students into the Welcoming Ceremony. The headmaster sent me with Miss Abernathy to ascertain your condition."

"Some of the other students said that you'd seen something strange during the trip," Abernathy said hesitantly. "Some sort of ghost ship?"

Ethan looked at her and then back at Tiverton.

"Well?" Tiverton said, drumming fingers on the bed frame. "Is this true?"

"Erm, well, yes," Ethan stammered.

"That is, 'yes, sir," Tiverton corrected him.

" Yes, _sir_," Ethan repeated.

"Did anyone else see this ship?" Tiverton asked.

" No, _sir_," Ethan answered, thinking back to the way the others had ribbed him. "Wait ...there was one."

"Who was that?" Tiverton pressed, one eyebrow raised.

"A first-year, sir," Ethan replied reluctantly. He really didn't want Alec involved. He was sure that the new boy would tell Tiverton something that would make matters worse.

But Ethan's inquisitor persisted.

"Does this first-year have a name, Mr. Lloyd?"

Ethan fidgeted in the bed. He noticed the pain in his arm again.

"He's called Alec Evans, sir," he finally said.

"I will speak with Mr. Evans," Tiverton declared, his lip curled unpleasantly. "No one else on the steamboat saw this...ship?"

"No, sir," Ethan admitted ruefully.

Abernathy, who had been quiet during Tiverton's questioning, stirred.

"Well, something did give him that scar, Professor," Abernathy pointed out.

"Someone or something did, certainly, Nurse," Tiverton agreed. "Whether it can be explained by a phantom ship or a more common cause will require further investigation. I wonder if Lloyd simply thought he could impress the first-years and stay in the public eye, only to find himself in over his head."

"That's not true!" Ethan protested. He found his glasses on the bedside table, put them on, and glowered at Tiverton.

"We'll find out soon enough," Tiverton said indifferently. "Now, provided the Nurse thinks you can travel, we should get you up to the school."

"He's perfectly well enough to go, Professor," Abernathy said. "But I'll want him to check in with me regularly for a few days."

Ethan got out of the bed and took a few tentative steps. The nurse handed him his black school robes, which he put on over his traveling clothes. Then Abernathy and Tiverton led him downstairs and through the dim public room of the tavern. There were a dozen customers seated in small groups around the room. As they passed the bar, Ethan was startled to see a familiar face turn his way.

"Well, who've you got there, Terence?" Uriel Swope, the artist, asked gruffly as he set a large stoneware mug on the bar.

"Ah, Swope, I see you've gravitated to your element," Tiverton sneered. "But perhaps no one told you that the Welcoming Ceremony is about to begin."

"Flyte mighta said something about that," Swope allowed. "Never was much for ceremonies and it seems a bit foolish to start now. Isn't that young Mr. Lloyd?"

"Why, yes," Tiverton answered, his face betraying surprise for a moment. "You know him?"

"We've met, once," Swope told him.

"Mr. Swope, what are you doing here?" Ethan inquired.

" That will be _Professor_ Swope, Lloyd," Tiverton broke in. "He'll be your Magical Arts teacher this year."

"Only doin' it at Flyte's insistence," Swope added. "Wouldn't even offer the subject if I had my way. But it's his call and I owe him a favor, so here I am."

Ethan didn't know what to say. He couldn't quite fathom why the Headmaster would hire this odd-looking man who frequented the seamier side of wizarding New York.

Addressing Tiverton again, Swope asked, "If you're taking that carriage out front, you won't mind if I tag along?"

Tiverton shrugged. Swope took a last swig from his mug, then picked up a small trunk and a large carpet bag, from which protruded easel legs, paintbrushes and rolled up canvas.

Out they all went. Ethan had never really seen the village at the Landing before. The Wild Goose was a two-story frame building with wide front porches on both floors. The cobblestone street was lined with small shops and houses that straggled away towards the steamboat dock. In front of the tavern sat one of Kaaterskill's horseless carriages. These vehicles moved apparently of their own volition. Ethan had hoped to board one with his friends for the ride up the escarpment of the Catskills to school.

Abernathy helped Ethan into the carriage and sat down next to him. Then Swope clambered up, having deposited his luggage on the roof. Finally Tiverton got in and shut the door.

The pain in Ethan's forearm had returned as he'd moved. His curiosity about Swope had momentarily distracted him from the ache.

"Lloyd must be quite a student, to rate a faculty escort," Swope observed as the carriage rattled over the cobblestones and headed for the old road up the mountain.

"Not really," Tiverton said. "He just had a fainting spell on the boat. The headmaster was concerned for him."

Abernathy had noticed Ethan's increasing discomfort. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a vial of a bright green liquid. The nurse quickly poured about half of the contents into a cup and held it out to Ethan.

"Take this potion, it will dull the pain and let you rest," she told him.

Ethan wanted to hear what Swope and Tiverton might discuss next, but the pain in his arm was making him dizzy. He took the cup and swallowed the contents. It burned all the way down his throat, but instantly the pain was gone. Almost as quickly, Abernathy, Swope and Tiverton blurred and his eyes drooped.

When he awoke, Abernathy was gently tapping his shoulder.

"We've arrived, Mr. Lloyd. There now, easy, let's get you into school."

Tiverton and Swope led the way and held open the double doors. Although the grounds looked sodden from the rain, the clouds were clearing in the west. As the late summer sun set, a beam of light shone on the white entryway. Ethan had never been happier to arrive anywhere in his life. He stepped away from the nurse and walked into the Entry Hall on his own.

They all walked up the hall and turned left into the Assembly Hall. As they stood in the doorway, Ethan looked up at the enchanted ceiling and saw that, here too, the storm was lifting.

Tiverton strode up the center aisle, Swope limping along behind him.

Abernathy turned to Ethan and said, "Off you go, then. Do be careful, Mr. Lloyd! And I want to see you tomorrow afternoon in the Infirmary!"

The Headmaster, Cyrus Flyte, a tall, gaunt man with flowing white hair and the nose of a hawk, stood at the faculty table, making the usual start-of-term announcements. It seemed that dinner had been cleared for dessert. Ethan was a bit disappointed that the House Assignment had already finished.

Flyte stopped speaking and inclined his head towards Swope, Tiverton and Abernathy as they found their way to empty seats at the faculty table.

Ethan made a beeline for the Bradbury table. He was only too aware that most of the student body was staring at him. He gratefully slid into the chair that Tim and Anne had saved for him and tried to look inconspicuous.

"Are you OK?" Tim asked with a look of concern.

Ethan nodded and said, "I'll tell you later."

"Ahem," Flyte cleared his throat and continued. "As I was saying, all those who wish to be considered for their house quidditch team should contact Senor Galvez; practice will begin week after next."

Flyte looked to his right, where Ethan's three escorts had seated themselves.

"I would like to make one introduction before these delectable desserts transport our senses beyond more mundane matters. I am delighted to announce that Mr. Uriel Swope has consented to fill the post of Professor of Magical Arts. Professor Swope has a distinguished body of work in graphic media as well as painting and I am sure you will find his unique approach to this valuable subject most enlightening."

Swope rose briefly, nodded to Flyte and sat down, resuming an animated conversation with Euell Crockett, the Herbology teacher. There followed rather scattered applause, together with a smattering of whispering and a few guffaws from the student body.

"Well, his face is certainly unique, anyway," Marcus Gibson quipped.

"Isn't he the guy you saw in Duyvell's Alley?" Tim asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, he's the one," Ethan confirmed.

"Isn't it a tad odd? You run into him in the midst of the darkest magic shops around and then days later he's announced as the new art teacher?" Tim continued.

"Well, Uncle Bertrand said he was OK," Ethan said. "That's good enough for me, even if he looks kinda strange."

"I just hope he doesn't scare the first-years to death the first time he looks at them in class!" Marcus chimed in. Ethan noticed Tally at Marcus' side.

"So there's another Gibson in Bradbury?" he asked. Tally giggled and hid behind her brother.

"Of course," Marcus replied. "Anything else would have been a shock. We've been in Bradbury for generations at this point. I think one of Dad's cousins was in Tituba, but we don't really talk about him much."

"What happened with Alec?" Ethan asked.

"See for yourself," Anne suggested, pointing down the table. There was Alec, talking enthusiastically with Kenny Sturtevant, a sixth-year Bradbury proctor.

Just then the desserts appeared magically on the tables. Ethan heard a squeal of delight from Alec, who'd just had a Chocolate-Strawberry Cake, a plate of gooey s'mores and a pecan pie materialize in front of him. Ethan realized how hungry he really was, so he served himself a bowl of bread custard with a caramel sauce.

But he told Tim, "What I'd really like, though, is a brat on a bun with fries." A second later, a plate matching his wish appeared next to his pudding.

"Cool!" Ethan exclaimed as he temporarily set dessert aside and attacked the bratwurst.

"Hey, I didn't know we could make special requests!" Anne said. "Let's see...I'd really like a cup of Maine clam chowder."

She waited expectantly, but nothing happened. As Anne returned to her blueberry pie, Tim came up with an explanation.

"They must know Ethan was late and didn't have dinner," he theorized. "And I bet it wouldn't work if you just overslept or something like that."

Ethan listened to his friends' discussion without really paying attention, although he realized he had no real idea who made their meals. As he devoured dinner, he really did begin to feel better. As he finished his bread pudding, only a minor sting reminded him of the scar on his arm, now concealed under his robes.

Soon the headmaster called for the school song and then dismissed them.

"I highly recommend a good night's sleep for all," Flyte told them. "Tomorrow, I expect each of you to start off strong!"

As the students rose to leave, Ethan heard calls of "First-years, follow me!" from proctors all over the room. Older students started heading for the doors. Tally and Alec started towards the knot of Bradbury first-years that was forming at the end of the Bradbury table. They all seemed smaller and paler than Ethan remembered being the previous September.

Ethan, Anne and the other second-year Bradburys had gotten up to leave but were now stuck in the crowd.

"Oh, good!" Tim said as he looked across the aisle, a note of sarcasm in his voice. Ethan turned to see Simon Brocklebank moving towards them, flanked by his two closest cronies, Lew Van Nort and Woody Harding. Each of them was so large and slow that Ethan wondered if their heritage was part-troll. The three of them were chortling and Brocklebank looked inordinately pleased with himself.

"Nice of you to drop by for the feast, Lloyd," he said. "Sorry to hear you were indisposed earlier."

Van Nort repeated, "_Indisposed_," and he and Harding snickered stupidly. Ethan wondered if they even knew the meaning of the word.

"So is it true, Lloyd?" Brocklebank asked mockingly. "You think you saw the Phantom Ship of the Hudson? Poor boy! You know what that means, Lloyd? Either you're hallucinating or you're doomed! As for me, I couldn't care less which!"

"He's not hallucinating!" Alec Evans spoke up angrily. Ethan winced and tried unsuccessfully to get Alec's attention.

"I saw it, too!" Alec continued. "It was plain as day!"

"Did you now, you dirty little mudblood?" Brocklebank spat. "Well that's dandy...we'll be down one mudblood and one muggle lover soon."

Alec looked ready to jump at Brocklebank. Tim and Marcus grabbed him preemptively.

"Good move, Van der Muggle!" Brocklebank drawled derisively. "If that foul first-year tries to touch me I'll see he doesn't walk for a month."

Just then Kenny Sturtevant pushed his way through the crowd.

"What's going on here?" he asked. Seeing Alec, red-faced and furious, Kenny said, "Come on, Evans, first-years are up there with Jimmy Sprague."

Glaring at Brocklebank, he continued, "You've no business here, you or your friends. Head back to your common room unless you want to lose points."

"Yes, sir, Mister Sturtevant, sir," Simon said in mock deference. He gestured to Van Nort and Harding and off they strolled.

"And the same goes for the rest of you," he told the Bradbury second-years. "Try to stay out of trouble for a couple of hours, will you? And you, Lloyd, you should be getting some rest!"

As they headed down the hall, Kenny went with them. Down corridors, through hidden doors they went, then up the Disconcerting Stair, which always made it seem like you were going down when you knew quite well you were going up and _vice versa_. Finally, there was the Dutchman, the old soldier whose portrait guarded the Bradbury common room. Ethan realized he didn't know the new password yet.

"Whiffletree," Kenny said. The portrait swung open and they all clambered through.

_Good old common room!_ Ethan thought as looked around at the comfy chairs around the fireplace, the house portraits on the walls and the variety of work tables, all abuzz with students catching up after a long summer.

When Ethan had last been in this room, he'd been the toast of his house mates. It had been due to him-and to his classmates Anne, Tim and Peter Powles-that Bradbury had won the Kaaterskill Trophy for the first time in years.

On this day, Ethan found his reception markedly different. While his fellow second-years seemed eager to hear more about his mishap on the boat, Ethan thought he noticed some of the older students giving him suspicious looks, then turning to whisper among themselves. Perhaps he was imagining it.

Marcus steered Ethan to a table in the corner and most of their classmates followed. Ethan greeted Peter Powles, the only second-year Bradbury boy he hadn't seen earlier.

"How was your summer?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, it was OK," Peter answered. "No picnic, but I didn't let Katrina push me around too much. I think Mom and Dad were surprised."

Peter had a twin sister who had spent most of her time before Kaaterskill bullying him. Now she was in Tenskwatawa House and a member of Brocklebank's gang.

Marcus turned to Ethan and asked, "So what happened to you, man?"

Ethan was trying to figure out how to answer when someone started sobbing on the other side of the room. Everyone looked in that direction. Ethan saw that it was Maddie Morrigan, a tall second-year girl. Ethan didn't know her terribly well, but he remembered that she was the best wizard chess player in their class. One of the other second-year girls, Melissa Murthin, was trying to console her.

"What's wrong with her?" Ethan asked.

The others, except for Tim, looked at him in disbelief.

"I thought you read the papers I sent you!" Anne whispered vehemently.

"Well I did, but..."

" Then you _should_ know that her mother was murdered in Washington back in July," Anne continued. "She was really high up in the Department of Magic. I'd better go see if I can help!"

Anne hurried over to Maddie and Melissa, leaving Ethan feeling very awkward indeed.

He asked the others sheepishly, "Do they know who did it?"

"Well they haven't caught anyone," Marcus reported.

"But everyone says it was Death Eaters," Peter added. "She was the Secretary's top deputy-in charge of Magical Law Enforcement, so they say it was really a message to the Secretary."

"That's awful!" Ethan said, stunned but not really surprised.

"It could have been a lot worse, if not for you," Peter said seriously. "If Hafgan had that talisman, I mean."

Ethan blushed, but he knew that Peter was right. He'd had a vision of the creature that the talisman had the power to release and he knew that it would have led to more than one horrible murder. But he knew that wouldn't make Maddie feel any better.

Ethan caught sight of Kenny Sturtevant heading towards them. Before the proctor could reach them, Ethan yawned and said loudly, "Well, I think it's best I turned in. I'm pretty beat."

The other boys nodded and they all headed up the stairs to their dorm. The door now boasted a sign that read "Second Years." Their trunks and the owls had been brought along and placed at the foot of their beds.

"So what really happened to you?" Marcus asked again.

"Really? I don't know," Ethan answered. "I was hit by something-some kind of light that came from..."

"From the ship only you and Alec saw, right?" Tim added when Ethan's voice trailed off.

" Yeah," Ethan said, adding with a slight edge in his voice, "_You _told the teachers I was hit by lightning, right?"

"Well, that's what it looked like," Tim replied.

"Well, Abernathy said there was no electrical shock," Ethan said. "And Tiverton said it was some kind of magical light."

Ethan winced and reached for his right arm, which he'd just noticed hurt again.

"What's wrong, Ethan?" Peter asked.

"Oh, nothing. It just hurts where I got hit." He rolled up his sleeve. The others stared at the quartered-circle scar.

"Whoa, what's that?" Marcus asked. "I guess Tiverton was right-that looks like a magical wound, all right."

"What does it mean, though?" Ethan wondered. "And what did Brocklebank mean when he said I was doomed by the Phantom Ship of the Hudson?"

" Oh, I can tell you that," Peter said. "We live on the river, north of the city. So I've _heard_ that sometimes a phantom ship appears on the river. My mom used to say that if I misbehaved she'd make sure I saw the ship. Anyone who sees it is supposed to be destined for an early death."

There was silence for a moment.

"Well, that's just what my mom said," Peter added. "She was just trying to scare me, I guess."

"But you've never seen it?" Tim asked.

"No, I sure haven't," Peter assured him.

"Then you don't know if the story has any truth to it," Tim rejoined. "For all we know it could be an old wives' tale."

"Yeah, it could be," Peter agreed.

"But we do know that Ethan saw something like it," Marcus pointed out. "And no one-or almost no one-else did."

"And it gave him that mark," Kyle added.

Ethan had remained silent while the others discussed the ship and the scar. Now he felt them looking at him as if he'd just told them he had a fatal disease.

"Well all we really know is that something odd happened," Tim maintained. "And there's nothing more to be done about it now. Let's go to bed."

Ethan agreed.

"Yeah, I'm really tired. If I'm doomed to an early death, I at least want a good night's rest first." He laughed, and even if it was a slightly forced laugh, it seemed to break the tension in the room. In a few minutes they were all tucked into their four-posters for the first time in nearly three months. Not long after that, Ethan closed his eyes and, to his own surprise, drifted into a peaceful sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Uriel Swope

Chapter 7

Uriel Swope

Ethan did rest well and a good thing it was, for he had precious little time to relax the following day, or for many days to come. He awoke to find Marcus and Peter already up and dressed. On top of his trunk, he found his new class schedule.

"Morning, Ethan!" Marcus said cheerily. "Take a look at all the exciting activities old Kaaterskill has in store for us this year!"

Ethan grabbed his glasses, put them on, and looked over the schedule, just as Tim appeared with a yawn from behind the curtains of his four-poster.

"Back-to-back Herbology!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Yes, isn't that nice?" Marcus asked sarcastically. "Nearly the whole morning with that old coot Crockett."

"It'll be better than tomorrow morning," Ethan observed. "I'll take a morning in the greenhouse over the same time with Tiverton and Brocklebank any day."

Tim had started checking over his copy of the schedule, still yawning. As usual, they had to wake Kyle, who always seemed to sleep longer than the rest of them.

Soon enough, they were all dressed and headed down to the common room. There was no sign of the 2nd-year girls. This didn't bother Ethan. The girls were often done with breakfast before the boys even got to the Assembly Hall. Furthermore, he was still feeling bad about Maddie.

They did, however, find a welcoming party of sorts. Alec, Tally and some of the other first-years were waiting for them.

"Morning, Ethan!" Alec called out. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, fine, Alec," Ethan answered, still somewhat groggy.

"Good!" Alec said. "The thing is, some of us were wondering if we could follow you down to breakfast, so we don't get lost."

"Well, I suppose so," Ethan said a bit reluctantly. He remembered that he and his roommates had made it to breakfast without help the previous September, although they'd nearly lost their way.

"Great!" Alec said, grabbing his book bag. "You know Tally already"--at this Marcus' sister giggled--"this is Ellis Northrup"--pointing to an already gawky boy with a shock of curly blond hair--"and this is Shane Gonzalez, he's from Santa Fe"--indicating an olive-skinned boy with a buzz-cut. The two boys shook Ethan's hand.

"OK, just see that you keep up," Marcus admonished them. "We're close to being late as it is, we don't need any first-years slowing us down."

Through the portrait hole they went, down the Disconcerting Stair, through the hidden panel, twisting and turning down to the main corridor and finally into the Assembly Hall. Ethan was relieved to see that the enchanted ceiling showed a bright blue sky; the storms had finally passed.

Ethan was also glad to see that Maddie seemed to be more or less her usual self. Anne had saved two places for Ethan and Tim. As they sat down, steaming bowls of oatmeal appeared before them.

"So, are you all right?" Anne asked.

"I think so," Ethan told her. "Abernathy wants to see me again this afternoon, but she didn't seem to think there was anything seriously wrong."

Tim broke in. "What did Abernathy think about the.."

Ethan cut him off.

"About what?" he asked brusquely. Ethan knew perfectly well what Tim meant, but he was already weary of the way people reacted to the wound on his arm.

"You know," Tim persisted. "That scar or whatever it is."

"Scar?" Anne asked. "What sort of scar?"

"Oh, all right," Ethan said as he rolled up his right sleeve to reveal the quartered circle.

"Oh, my!" Anne exclaimed, more loudly than Ethan wished she had. "How did you get that?"

Some of the girls turned towards Anne and caught a glimpse of the mark on Ethan's arm. More heads turned and in a moment there was a knot of curious Bradbury students staring at the quartered circle, which was no longer as red or raw as it had been. Ethan's face, on the other hand, had turned beet red. He quickly shook the sleeve of his robe down again; the onlookers dispersed, muttering to themselves.

"Sorry, but that's really unusual," Anne said.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out," Ethan said irritably.

"It sort of reminds me of something," said Melissa Murthin, who was sitting across from Anne. "But not really, I suppose."

"Don't leave me hanging," Ethan replied.

"Well, they say that...that You-Know-Who's followers all have a mark that he puts on their arms. It lets him call them to his side whenever he wants them," Melissa explained. "Marks them as _his_, I guess. But it's nothing like your mark, not that I've ever seen it myself."

"Well, that's a relief," Ethan muttered. Before he could say more, they were all distracted by the sight of Professor Tiverton walking down the aisle along the Bradbury table.

"I am looking for Mr. Alec Evans," Tiverton said curtly.

Alec had been having an earnest discussion with Ellis Northrup about the intellectual capacity of trolls. He looked up suddenly and saw Tiverton glowering at the first-years.

"That's me, sir," he said timidly.

"Come with me, now," Tiverton said to Alec, although he was looking at Ethan. "I need a word with you before you go to class."

An unpleasant smile flickered on Tiverton's face for a moment as Alec arose and gathered his school books. Then the transfiguration teacher swept away, followed by a confused-looking Alec, who tottered out of the Assembly Hall, weighed down by his book bag.

"What was that about?" Marcus asked. "I mean, he couldn't get on Tiverton's bad list that fast, could he?"

"What it's about is me," Ethan said ruefully, hastily trying to finish his oatmeal too.

"And that ship?" Tim asked, as the trickle of students leaving the hall for class grew to a flood.

"Yeah, Tiverton asked me if anyone else saw it," Ethan affirmed. "I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn't want him to think I was just making it up. I mean, even you guys think it wasn't really there."

"Ethan, that's _not_ what I think," Tim told him. "All I know is that you saw something that I couldn't see. I believe that you _did_ see something. I want to know more. I mean, I want to know why you―and Alec―did see."

"And so do I," Anne added.

Marcus nodded and said, "Me too, but right now we'd better get to the greenhouses. No point in being late the first day. Crockett's been waiting to dock house points all summer."

A few minutes later they stepped out the front door and headed off towards the greenhouses. The late summer sun shone brightly on the mountaintop, but Ethan's thoughts had strayed far from the weather or herbology. He felt guilty about Alec's run-in with Tiverton. He felt annoyed that Tiverton hadn't let the matter drop. Ethan wanted very much to learn more about the phantom ship and the strange mark on his arm, but he didn't relish sharing that field of inquiry with his least favorite teacher. On the other hand, Ethan wondered why Tiverton was so interested and this piqued his interest further.

Lost in these thoughts, Ethan didn't notice that the group had stopped. He practically walked up Anne's back.

"Sorry," he mumbled as she shot him a slightly cross look. Looking up, he saw that they were now at the end of a line of Bradbury and Harrison second-years milling around outside the greenhouse doors.

"Hi, Ethan," said a voice to the left. Ethan looked over and saw Edwin Malinowski, one of the Harrisons he'd been friendly with during their first year.

"Oh, hi, Edwin," he said. "How was your summer?"

"Oh, not bad. How was yours?"

"Interesting," Ethan said cryptically.

"No kidding," Edwin replied, sounding a bit uncertain. Gesturing to a broad-shouldered, red-haired boy next to him, he added, "You know Bram Rozema, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not sure we've been officially introduced," Ethan replied, holding out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, I'm..."

"Oh, I know you," Bram said with an admiring smile. "After the end of school last year, we all know Ethan Lloyd. Everyone was glad to see Tenskwatawa put in their place."

Ethan blushed as they shook hands. He was relieved when one of the greenhouse doors creaked open, interrupting the conversation.

Euell Crockett's gnarled face appeared.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" the herbology professor growled. "Greenhouse two for second-years. In you go, now!"

As the students trooped through the door, a stooped figure limped out past them and stood next to Crockett. Ethan recognized Uriel Swope, who was evidently continuing an animated but whispered conversation with Crockett.

As Ethan got closer to the door, he could hear snatches of the conversation.

"...I told you, I don't know why, either, Euell, but Flyte wants it done," Swope said.

"Well, I'll set them to it, but it'll probably be too much for their level," Crockett replied, skepticism permeating his voice. "I'll let you know when―or rather, if―they're ready."

Just then Swope caught sight of Ethan, who was the last student in the line. He turned, a crooked smile on his face.

"'Morning, Mr. Lloyd," Swope said brightly. "We seem to be seeing a lot of each other already. Hope you're feeling better."

"Oh, ah, yeah," Ethan said, not sure what to say.

"You know, Professor Tiverton's got a notion you're a bit stagestruck," Swope whispered. "I've heard a bit about how last year ended, too, you know."

"He's wrong!" Ethan answered loudly enough that Edwin looked back at him from inside the door.

"I wondered if he might be," Swope said, now eying Ethan shrewdly. "Well, in any case, I must let Professor Crockett put you and your friends to work. I'll see you in the studio this afternoon."

With that Swope nodded to Crockett and stumped off towards the school building. Crockett glowered at Ethan for a moment before the latter entered the greenhouse. The professor followed and shut the door behind him.

The greenhouse had many round tables set up, each with places for five students. Everyone ahead of Ethan had already chosen a spot. Anne and Tim had held a place for him at the farthest table from the door. They were joined by Edwin and Bram.

Arranged on the table were five ceramic pots, each half-filled with potting soil. A large mound of soil had been dumped in the center of the table. Next to Tim, Ethan saw a large flat filled with seedlings.

These young plants looked ordinary enough, less than 6 inches tall with twig-like, brownish-gray stalks and a mass of lance-shaped green leaves near the top.

Yes, these plants looked quite non-magical, Ethan thought as he waited for the buzzing of his classmates to subside and for Crockett to begin class.

After a minute or two, Ethan realized that there was still a high-pitched chattering noise, even though he could see that everyone had stopped talking. In fact, all the students were sitting quietly, nervously eying either Crockett or the plants before them.

"Amazing!" Crockett exclaimed gruffly at last. "I've discovered how to silence an entire classroom of Kaaterskill students without so much as raising my voice. And all thanks to these little slips of Singing Barberry. You will all be getting to know these highly amusing plants quite well this term. Can anyone here tell me about the Singing Barberry?"

As Ethan and Tim looked blankly at each other, Edwin's hand shot up.

"Malinowski?"

"Sir, Singing Barberry, or _berberis magicalis_, is a variety bred by medi-wizards in the north of England in the 16th century," Edwin said eagerly. "It was meant to accelerate healing by stimulating patients with music."

"Very good," Crockett said. "And how did that turn out?"

Edwin raised his hand again. No one else did. Crockett nodded to him.

"Not so well, because the full-grown plant makes a sound similar to what is now called 'speed metal' music by muggles; this proved fatal to some test subjects. But using ear protection, some continued research and found that a potion made from the root bark gathered in the spring can cure extreme lethargy caused by certain dark spells and creature attacks."

"Very good, Malinowski, ten points to Harrison House," Crockett said approvingly.

"Now, as Mr. Malinowski may know, though I doubt anyone else here does, _berberis magicalis_ is a very rare species today, controlled carefully by the Department of Magic. Through the intervention of the headmaster, you will have the privilege of working with them from the sprouts before you into mature bushes from which the aforementioned potion can be made."

"Now, let's get to work," he continued. "Although these seedlings are not full-fledged headbangers yet, they can be highly irritating to the eardrums if not transplanted efficiently. Observe!"

Crockett lifted a ceramic pot from the table before him and made a trench in the soil with his left hand. Next, he grasped the corner of a flat of _berberis_ seedlings and twisted it. The seedling in that corner popped out.

The professor quickly spread the rootlets that hung down from the young plant. As he did so, the room was filled with a high-pitched wail that reminded Ethan of either a very unhappy infant or a cat being strangled.

Everyone clapped their hands over their ears. Crockett merely grinned for a long moment, then thrust the seedling down into the pot. This muffled the din considerably; by the time he had troweled more soil over the roots, the plant was silent.

"I trust you see what I mean," Crockett chortled as the class uncovered their ears. "Suffice it to say that the less time you allow the roots to dangle, the less painful this work will be for all of you. Do take care not to break any of the stalks as you re-pot them. Go ahead, now!"

Ethan reached for one of the half-filled pots, then hesitated. He could see that the others at his table also had doubts about this project―all except Edwin, that is. He grasped a pot, twisted the flat just as Crockett had and freed one Singing Barberry seedling. It let out a howl that sounded like a high-speed dental drill. Ethan again covered his ears, but this time he had a clear view of the seedling in Edwin's hand. The young branches actually seemed to be thrashing about in the split-second before Edwin pushed the plant into his pot. He quickly covered it; the plant stopped moving and ceased its cries.

"However can you stand to do that?" Anne asked Edwin.

"It's not that hard, just do it quickly," he replied. "They're really rather interesting plants. My mom has quite a garden, but I've only read about this species."

"Whatever you say, man!" Bram said in evident disbelief.

Tim rolled his eyes, but grabbed a pot and tried to stuff a seedling into it as quickly as he could. As the _berberis_ sprout screeched, he punched it down in the pot. The incensed plant swung its slender stalks indignantly at Tim's hand.

"Ouch!" Tim shouted as he wrenched his right hand away from the seedling. With his other hand, he angrily covered the roots with soil and thrust the pot down.

"See that you don't injure the little things," Crockett called out. "They have the means to retaliate. I'm sure that Mr. Van der Meulen can testify that their thorns, though small, can be quite painful."

The class set to work with great care, trying to discover how to re-pot the _berberis_ with a minimum of injury to hands and ears. When the bell rang, Ethan and the others filed out of the greenhouse―dirty, hot and nursing various scrapes and cuts. Bram and Edwin headed towards the Harrison common room; Ethan and his house mates climbed up the stairs to Bradbury Tower to clean up before lunch.

As Ethan wolfed down a sloppy joe and pumpkin juice in the Assembly Hall, some of the first years tumbled in and flopped down at the Bradbury table.

Alec Evans took the spot next to Ethan. As his lunch plate appeared before him, Alec turned and said cheerily, "Hallo, Ethan!"

"Oh, hi, Alec," Ethan replied. The combative _berberis_ had pushed Tiverton and the Phantom Ship from his mind temporarily, but Alec's presence brought it all back. "How was your first morning. Did Tiverton keep you long?"

Alec looked at Ethan quizzically. After a moment, he said, "Oh, that. No, not really. I got the feeling I wasn't really telling him what he wanted to know."

"Oh?" Ethan asked.

"Well, he wanted to know if I'd seen anything unusual on the way up the river," Alec recounted. "And I told him about the ghost ship and all. I had to describe the whole thing 'cause he kept asking me if I was really sure. He didn't really seem satisfied even so. He asked me if anyone else had seen it and I said just you. And that was about it."

"That was it?" Ethan repeated.

"Well," Alec hesitated. "Umm, he did ask me if you'd put me up to saying I'd seen the ship. Of course I told him you hadn't―and I told him if he'd seen that ship, tall and graceful but horrible with its sails and masts and rigging all on fire, he'd know no one could make it up."

"You told him that?" Ethan asked, bemused at the younger boy's naive cheek.

"Yeah, and all he did was give me a sour look and tell me to get to class or I'd be getting detention."

"I have a feeling you really disappointed him, Alec," Ethan said. "He was hoping you'd prove I made the whole thing up."

"But why?" Alec asked, sounding confused. "That ship was plain as day to me."

"Well, if it isn't the resident visionary and his disciple," sneered the familiar voice of Simon Brocklebank from the aisle behind them. "Seen any flaming ghosts today, Lloyd? Everyone gather 'round, Lloyd may hallucinate again for us."

Harding, Van Nort and Katrina Powles laughed unpleasantly from behind Brocklebank; a number of heads turned their way.

"All I see right now are a bunch of flaming idiots," Ethan retorted.

Simon glared at him angrily and Ethan watched him slip his wand out of his pocket.

"Watch your filthy little mouth, Lloyd," Brocklebank said, pointing the wand straight at Ethan.

Before Ethan could respond, Alec had pulled his wand out and took aim at Simon.

"Leave him alone!" Alec shouted, his voice shrill but determined.

Simon turned to look at Alec with malicious amusement.

"And what are you going to do about it, you pitiful mudblood?" he said disdainfully. "I ought to give you your first lesson in jinxes. What do you think, guys? Leg-lock? Bat-bogey hex?"

Having recovered from his amazement at Alec's bravado, Ethan now had his wand at the ready.

"Don't even think about it!" came the gruff voice of Uriel Swope from the other aisle. "What's all this then?"

He gave Simon and his goon squad a suspicious look. "Put that wand away, Mr. Brocklebank! Off you go, all of you!"

Swope then rounded on Alec and Ethan.

"I'd have thought you would know better than to get a first-year involved in your squabbles already, Lloyd!"

"But..." As Ethan began to protest, he could see Brocklebank chortling as he moved away.

"Put that wand away, young man!" Swope told Alec. "All of you, off to class. And no more trouble or I'll see to it you get detention!"

Ethan felt another wave of annoyance towards Alec, but managed to keep it to himself. His first instinct was to berate the younger boy for nearly getting them both detention. Instead, he offered some advice.

"You've got to be careful, Alec. And I don't mean about detention. Brocklebank is no Erik Brewer. I mean Simon_ is_ a bully, but he's probably been learning jinxes since he learned to read. And you don't know any spells yet, either. And accidental magic would just get you into more trouble."

If Ethan expected Alec to be abashed by these words, or at least by Swope's reprimand, he found himself disappointed.

"So you think I should just keep my mouth shut and stay out of trouble?" Alec asked, an edge in his voice. "And let the bullies win?"

"Well, not exactly," Ethan answered, taken aback. "But let's be practical, Alec, what would you do in a fight with Simon?"

"Practicality? I find out I'm a wizard, and you want me to be practical?" Alec asked.

"Maybe he just thinks you'd be more useful if you didn't get yourself turned into a jellyfish quite yet," said Marcus Gibson with a crooked grin. "Though, I admit, Lloyd does need some looking after himself!"

"Hey!" Ethan exclaimed in mock anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you can't deny that you have a knack for getting into tight situations," Marcus said.

"And luckily," added Tim from a few seats down the table, "You also have a knack for getting out of them."

"I guess you're right," Ethan said with a grin. "But we'll all be in a tight situation if we don't get to class! Stay out of trouble 'til dinner, OK, Alec?"

"I'll try," Alec called over his shoulder as he hurried off to join his classmates, who were already leaving the Assembly Hall.

"That one's feisty, all right," Marcus observed sagely as the 2nd-years headed out as well. "Three meals here so far―twice he nearly gets hexed by Brocklebank and once Tiverton drags him out of the room for questioning."

"If he keeps it up, they'll be sending him home to Madison in a week," Ethan asserted.

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "The only question is what shape he'll be in when he gets there."

They made it to Charms class just as the strait-laced, red-haired Professor O'Loughlin was about to close the door. All the other students―Bradburys and Titubas―were already seated.

"What kept you?" Anne hissed at Ethan and Tim as they sat down hastily in seats she had saved for them.

Ethan didn't answer, sensing O'Loughlin passing down the aisle next to him. Once she'd passed, Tim whispered, "Alec Evans."

Anne wrinkled her nose quizzically. "Really?"

Ethan shrugged. He looked around the room and noticed that the windows were all shut and the curtains drawn.

O'Loughlin cleared her throat and told them to turn in their summer essays on the theory of Cognitive Causation in Conjuring. Ethan reluctantly pulled a roll of parchment from his bag and passed it forward. He still felt it unjust that he'd had to slog through Charms theory over vacation and he was certain his essay had suffered from his lack of enthusiasm.

"Now, today we will embark on a different category of Charms altogether," the professor continued. "These are the Helpful Charms; they'll help you find yourselves when lost, complete humdrum tasks more quickly―no, Mr. Stuart, not homework, I'm afraid."

"This sounds good," Anne whispered enthusiastically.

"The first Helpful Charm we'll learn this term is exceedingly simple," O'Loughlin said. "It doesn't move, conjure or transfigure anything. All it does is point you north."

"Couldn't you just use a compass?" Tim whispered to Ethan.

As if on cue, O'Loughlin, "Now some of you are undoubtedly wondering why this might be truly helpful. After all, one can look up in the sky and figure out where North is, right? Or perhaps you're familiar with a muggle device for determining direction, the compass?"

As the Charms teacher said these words, small round compasses materialized in front of each student.

"Ingenious, in its way, the compass," O'Loughlin continued. "It _will_ point you North, but it's not infallible. Of course, the position of the Sun or the North Star at night can indicate direction as well, but one may not always be able to see them."

O'Loughlin raised her wand and muttered an incantation Ethan did not recognize. The arrow on his compass began gyrating wildly.

"Where's North now?" the professor asked. "And it can get worse. There are spells and magical substances that turn bright sunshine into dark night without landmarks. So before you find yourself in such a situation, let's see how the Four Points charm works."

She held out her hand and placed her wand upon the flat of her palm.

"Point Me!" O'Loughlin said. The wand rotated on her palm and then pointed steadily in the same direction that had indicated by the compasses.

"There, now! Easy enough, isn't it?" she continued. "Hold your wand hand out, palm up. Place the wand precisely parallel to your ring finger, with the end resting at the base of your life line."

The students hastily followed these instructions, which apparently weren't as easy as O'Loughlin made them sound. Kyle's wand clattered to the floor not once but twice and others also had trouble keeping wand on palm.

"Some wands are more active than others," said O'Loughlin, unperturbed. "Concentrate on keeping them in place. Your _lifeline_, Gibson, come now, you'll never make it through Divination at this rate!"

After a few minutes, everyone had their wand set properly. O'Loughlin said, "Now the incantation is 'Point Me!' On three now...1...2...3"

Twenty voices shouted "Point Me!" Ethan's wand turned clockwise about a quarter-turn, then stopped, vibrating slightly. It was an odd feeling. Ethan had thus far looked upon his wand as a tool useful only when gripped tightly; now it seemed almost alive.

Tim's wand spun round like a top, not slowing down even slightly as it passed North again and again. As O'Loughlin walked by, inspecting the results, she stopped, flicked her wand in Tim's direction,

and said, "_Finite_!"

"There now, Mr. Van der Meulen, that's a common error with beginners," she said. "Concentrate on wanting to know where North is."

"But that's what I _was_ doing!" Tim exclaimed in frustration.

"Think a moment," O'Loughlin insisted. "Are you sure you weren't trying to _tell_ your wand where to point? Let the spell do the work."

"Oh, yeah," Tim said as he grasped the difference.

O'Loughlin returned to the front of the classroom.

"Now, let's try it again with a little disorientation," she said. She flicked her wand silently. Ethan instantly found himself enveloped in an impenetrable black fog. If not for the sounds of his classmates' consternation all around, he could have imagined that he was alone. Next he had a sudden sensation that the room was spinning around him. Just as quickly the spinning stopped and O'Loughlin's voice came out of the fog.

"Now, use the Four Points charm. North is the way out of the fog. Careful not to bump into your desks!"

Ethan found himself silently shaking as he placed the wand back on his palm. He'd found himself in just such a fog the previous spring in the middle of Spook Woods. When that fog had cleared, Ethan had found himself pursued through the forest by the hooded form of Hafgan.

"Point Me!" Ethan said and he wondered whether the charm would have helped him that night. The wand spun for a moment, then settled to point firmly North. Ethan reached forward and felt the bench he'd been sitting on. He carefully moved out to the aisle, only bumping into Tim once. Then he'd followed the aisle until suddenly he emerged from the fog into a knot of students squinting in the bright light at the back of the classroom.

O'Loughlin beamed at them, then waved her wand to vanish the fog, revealing two Titubas and Peter Powles still struggling to get out.

"Not bad, not bad at all for the first class," O'Loughlin said indulgently. "Well, time's up! Off you go, then!"

On the way to History of Magic, the Bradburys discussed their first Charms class.

"Well, it is a simple enough charm," Anne said. "But how useful can it really be?"

"If you ever get lost in the Woods, it could come in handy," Ethan opined.

"Yeah, but who would ever do something like that," Marcus asked, his lip twitching. Ethan raised a hand as if to swat him, but they both laughed.

They filed into History of Magic, one of Ethan's favorite classes. He was hoping that Bancroft might digress into a discussion of current events, as the teacher often wove the present into their study of the past.

On this point, however, Ethan was disappointed, for Bancroft seemed determined to focus on the distant past. He spent the first class outlining relations between the American wizarding authorities and the shamans of the Plains Indians. Then he assigned roles for each student to research for a re-enactment of the Balaguer's Butte Parley of 1816. Normally Ethan found such projects interesting, but on this day he was preoccupied with the Phantom Ship and the earlier history of Jan Van Dam. The encircled-cross mark on his arm gave a twinge just often enough to remind him of the previous day's events.

As Ethan made to leave at the end of class, Bancroft motioned him to his desk.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to check on you, Mr. Lloyd," he said quietly as the other students made their way out of the room. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, I think so, sir," Ethan answered.

"Good, good," Bancroft said, though he was still giving Ethan a searching look. "Now, don't forget to stop by the Infirmary after class today. Nurse Abernathy is quite concerned about you and ..."

Bancroft's voice trailed off.

"Sir?" Ethan asked.

Bancroft looked up and continued, "And the rather unusual wound you sustained." To Ethan's relief, the teacher did not ask to see the mark. "So off you go, now. Just don't forget."

"No, sir," Ethan replied. He hurried off to join his friends waiting outside the classroom. As he did, he glanced at his watch; it was a few minutes before 4 o'clock, almost time for art class. During his first year, Ethan looked forward to each art class as a respite, a chance to relax and do something he didn't need to think about to do well.

But on this day, as the afternoon sun streamed through the stair hall windows, Ethan felt differently. His old art teacher had manipulated Ethan and betrayed him, but that wasn't what bothered Ethan the most. No, Ethan's unease with magical art lay in the lessons, some unintended, that Roscoe Skryme had taught him. Done well, magical art was powerful, powerful and dangerous. Ethan had shown a natural talent for magical art. It was only logical, he realized, to imagine that he himself might be dangerous, especially to those he cared about. Yet he still remembered that he'd always been happiest while sketching, drawing or coloring when he was younger―before he'd learned he was a wizard.

So it was that he approached the art studio feeling quite miserable and uncertain. He was hardly aware of Marcus, Tim, Anne and the others walking along side him.

They filed into the studio. Although Ethan had spent many hours in this room during his first year, he barely recognized the space. Gone were the flowers and colorful drapes that Roscoe Skryme had installed. Swope had hung a series of his gritty cityscapes around the inside walls. The lower windows had been blocked. Dim natural light filtered down from the upper windows, reminding Ethan of the shadowy atmosphere of Duyvell's Alley. Twenty easels were arranged in groups of four around the room. Next to the easels were tables which held three-dimensional models of a variety of buildings: shops, row houses, castles, farmhouses.

Students crowded into the room ahead of Ethan and quickly claimed their places. By the time he, Tim and Anne moved into the room, few seats remained open. Tim flopped down at a table with Marcus, Kyle and Peter. Ethan and Anne headed towards the last two easels, near the front of the room. As he slung his book bag down next to an open seat, Ethan realized with a start that their companions at the table were Simon Brocklebank and Katrina Powles.

"There goes the neighborhood, Katrina," Brocklebank drawled contemptuously.

Ethan felt a great urge to strike Simon, an urge countered by his anxiety about art class.

"What do you mean?" Katrina answered Brocklebank, as if reading and mocking Ethan's self-doubt. "Sharing a table with the great artist himself? It's a rare opportunity! Maybe his brilliance will rub off on us."

"Not much chance of anyone's brilliance rubbing off on _you_," Anne remarked acidly. Then she and Katrina glared at each other, Simon looking bemused while Ethan looked away determinedly. One of Swope's sketches caught his eye, a street scape that Ethan thought he recognized.

Swope noticed and limped over.

"Took you out and left you out, just as you asked, Lloyd," he said. "I meant no harm and none would have come of your presence. Still, I don't blame you for being careful."

He eyed Ethan shrewdly for a moment. Ethan said nothing and Swope added, "Well, we'd best get started!"

The art teacher moved slowly to the front of the studio and raised a paintbrush in his hand to call for silence.

"This is Magical Art II. I trust that you have found easels. Please remember your places, as you will use the same one for each class."

At this Ethan and Simon groaned in unison. Swope noticed.

"There now, that will do," he said. "I expect you all to tolerate each other and indeed to cooperate when necessary."

"Now, as to my teaching philosophy: I believe firmly that most of you might as well be squibs when it comes to learning magical art. But Flyte wants it taught and Flyte's the only wizard on this earth who could convince me to give it a try. All you need to know is that I owe it to him to try to turn the lot of you into magical artists and I'll give it an honest effort--even if I have about as much chance of success as Sisyphus did of getting the boulder to stay at the top of the hill."

"Not exactly the optimist, is he" Anne whispered. Ethan shrugged.

"Now, I understand that my predecessor spent most of the year trying to coax portraits out of you," Swope continued. "That, I am afraid to say, was a recipe for failure. I have been told that only one of you did any satisfactory work along those lines, while two or three others showed some little promise."

At these words, Ethan felt the eyes of his classmates upon him and he did his best to melt into his chair. To his relief, Swope did not linger on the subject.

"I believe you need to start with a more straightforward genre, such as the landscape or the townscape. At this one of Swope's sketches floated to the center of the room. It depicted a farmhouse set among neatly fenced fields with a road that ran from the dooryard off into a range of distant hills. The sketch magically enlarged until even those at the back of the room could see it clearly.

"What you need to start with is a bit of simple perspective. In a landscape, you need to establish the vanishing point. Are you familiar with that concept?"

At first no one raised their hand. After a moment, Simon Brocklebank shot his hand up, much to Ethan's surprise. Simon had never shown any interest in art.

Swope pointed to him. "Yes, Mr. Brocklebank?"

"It's where everyone on that farm disapparated from," Simon said, struggling to keep a straight face. Ethan heard Harding, Van Nort and some others giggling stupidly.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Brocklebank," Swope sighed. "Lloyd, can you provide the correct answer?"

Ethan looked down, shifted in his seat and muttered quickly, "It's a point in a drawing where parallel lines drawn from the foreground would appear to converge, like on the horizon."

"That's right!" Swope said approvingly. "And there's no need to be shy about it! Ten points to Bradbury."

Anne beamed at Ethan, but he was still looking down. Brocklebank noticed his discomfiture and hissed, "What's the matter, Lloyd? On the brink of a breakdown?"

Ethan kept his composure, mainly because he wanted no more attention than he'd already received.

Swope explained that he wanted the students to start by locating the vanishing point and the horizon, then place the hills and the farmhouse. Around him, Ethan saw his classmates hesitantly take up pencils and rulers and try to start following these instructions. Next to him, Anne was placing a horizon line. Even Simon and Katrina were making half-hearted efforts.

Ethan, however, found it impossible to lift the pencil and put it to paper. He looked at Swope's picture. He admired the professor's carefully-detailed image but wondered at the pervasive darkness of his work. Clouds filled the skies over the farm in the view, blotting out the sun except for a few rays that dramatically lit the side of the farmhouse. No matter how long he contemplated Swope's work, Ethan could not bring himself to attempt a copy.

"Waiting for your muse to strike?" Katrina asked. Brocklebank snickered.

Ethan just glowered at them. Anne seemed to sense that encouragement wouldn't help, so she kept silent.

Swope took note of Ethan's lack of progress as he made his rounds a few minutes later. He had just admonished Brocklebank for adding a stick figure flying around his farmyard when he saw Ethan's blank easel.

"Come along now, Mr. Lloyd," he said. "I'm given to understand that you are one of the few students who belong in this studio. What's the trouble?"

"Oh, nothing really, sir," Ethan replied, feeling foolish. "I mean, I don't know, I just don't..."

"Perhaps you're not as comfortable with landscapes?" Swope suggested.

Ethan looked up at Swope's face, which was expressionless, neither encouraging as O'Loughlin or Bancroft would have been nor as contemptuous as Tiverton or Crockett.

"A bit of artist's block, then, is it?" Swope said. Ethan hadn't said a word, yet it seemed that Swope had divined the problem. "Well, don't give up. You know you can do this, and that's half the battle."

As Swope moved on to another cluster of students, Ethan lifted the pencil and began to draw in a light horizon line. _After all_, he thought, _it's not magical art until it's enchanted at the end_.

As the hour came to a close, Swope inspected again. When he came to Ethan's group, he frowned at the still nearly-blank sheet on Ethan's easel.

"Well, it's a start," he said simply. "Be back here Saturday morning at 10, Lloyd."

Anne looked up sharply. "But that's quidditch tryouts, sir!"

Ethan looked at her, surprised. "So?" he asked.

"I just thought maybe you..."

Swope interrupted. "That's fine, wouldn't want to interfere with sports! Make it three o'clock, Lloyd." Ethan rushed out of the classroom, eager to get away, though he knew he had to head to the infirmary next.

Anne and Tim hurried after him. When they caught up, Ethan snapped, "What do quidditch tryouts have to do with me?"

"Well, there's an opening for seeker, you know," Anne said. "And since you were the best first-year seeker, I thought you'd want to give it a shot."

"Well, I hadn't thought about it," Ethan said curtly. "Funny, I've had other things on my mind." Turning to Tim, he added, "Anyway, you're the quidditch star, not me."

Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Kenny was hoping you'd try out, too."

Ethan paused. Kenny Sturtevant's opinion mattered to him. But he really didn't want to discuss quidditch further.

"Well, I've got to get to Abernathy's now," he said shortly. "I'll see you at dinner."

Glad of the excuse to get away, Ethan turned down the corridor that led to the infirmary.

The door was open. The large, airy room was quiet, the late afternoon sun shining in through the tall, narrow windows. Ethan walked in and turned to the small enclosed office to the right of the door.

He saw Nurse Abernathy sitting at her desk, consulting a large book that must have been very old from the look of its battered, stained pages.

Looking up, Abernathy smiled and said, "Ah, Mr. Lloyd, come in and sit down. Let's see how you are today. You look well enough, how do you feel?"

"Fine, I think," Ethan replied as the nurse got up and walked around her desk to the chair in which Ethan was now seated. She grasped Ethan's right arm and lifted it gently.

She then rolled up his sleeve and looked at the quartered circle that appeared almost as a brand upon his arm now. Ethan instinctively drew it back.

"Still hurts, then, does it?" she asked, eying him warily.

"No, not really," he told her. "Just a twinge, once in a while. And it's a little itchy."

"No other unusual symptoms, Mr. Lloyd?" the nurse asked.

"No," Ethan replied, reflecting that he probably couldn't blame his mental block in art on the wound.

"Well, that's good, as far as it goes," Abernathy concluded. "I want to see you in a couple of weeks, sooner if there's any change at all. Don't hesitate..."

She stopped. There was a clatter of hurrying footsteps in the hall and the sound of hysterically squeaky voices. A deeper voice said, "Bring him right in there!"

Ethan stared as the two first-years he'd met that morning, Ellis Northrup and Shane Gonzalez, struggled through the infirmary door. They supported between them something that looked like a giant blueberry in Bradbury robes. Behind them was the proctor, Jimmy Sprague.

Abernathy hurried to meet them.

"What's this then, Mr. Sprague?" she asked sharply, looking at the blueberry, which Ethan now saw had arms, legs and a face that seemed vaguely familiar.

The proctor looked at the nurse and said, "We got him here as soon as I found out, ma'am. Berry-Blob Jinx, I'm afraid. He's a first-year, the name's Alec Evans."


	8. Chapter 8: Mentors and Misanthropes

Chapter 8

Mentors and Misanthropes

Ethan stared at the bloated figure in robes and struggled to see Alec's face through the purplish swelling.

"Hi, Ethan," a nasal voice said as the blob's lips moved.

"Alec?" Ethan said, still half disbelieving. "Who did this to you?"

"Don't know," answered the nasal voice. "We were on our way back to the common room and I heard someone call out a jinx. The next thing I knew I'd turned into a blueberry."

"Whoever it was, they had good aim," Shane interjected. "He was right between me and Ellis. Didn't hit either of us, though."

Turning to the nurse, Ethan asked, "Will he be OK? Can you fix it?"

"Oh yes, of course, I can fix it," Abernathy replied briskly. "He may be a bit blue for awhile, but there'll be no lasting harm. I'll be speaking to Mr. Beadle about the lack of discipline in the hallways, you can be sure of that! Now you just leave Mr. Evans to me. Off you go, all of you!"

As they hurried back to Bradbury Tower, Jimmy told Ethan, "I didn't see anything, just heard these two yelling something about a jinx. It's not really too difficult, if you're into such things―annoying, to be sure, but like Abernathy said, not that harmful."

"Still, don't you think it's a bit rough, getting jinxed like that on your first day?" Ethan asked.

"I'll grant you that," Jimmy agreed. "And him a mudblood, too. Probably had no idea what hit him!"

Ethan filled his classmates in on Alec's plight. The incident seemed to wiped away any curiosity the others might have had about Ethan's visit to the nurse.

Friday dawned and Ethan had to endure a morning of Transfiguration with Professor Tiverton. On the way into the classroom, Brocklebank told his gang in a stage whisper, "Did you hear? Lloyd needs extra help in art!"

Tiverton said nothing to Ethan about the incident aboard _Kaaterskill_. The teacher flitted about the room like a nervous bat, observing their first attempts at animal transfiguration, changing fireflies into glow sticks. Ethan felt Tiverton hovering in his vicinity several times. He found the attention unnerving and all he had to show for a long morning's work was a firefly with a hanging hook at the top. Still, he reflected that he'd expected worse.

After lunch, it was on to Defense against the Dark Arts. Ethan liked this class. The teacher, the ancient Ang Hsu, was an old friend of Great Uncle Bertrand and had fought against the darkest wizards of the past century, Chiromatsu and Gellert Grindelwald. Much to the chagrin of Ethan and his classmates, Ang Hsu hadn't taught them any defensive spells at all during their first year; instead he taught the students meditation and concentration exercises.

As he entered the classroom, Ethan beheld Ang Hsu seated cross-legged on a large green pillow in the center of the room. The tiny, wizened teacher held his arms out before him, apparently oblivious to the bustle of twenty students shuffling into the room.

There were no desks in the room, just twenty green pillows arranged in a circle around Ang Hsu. The students moved around the room tentatively.

"Looks like we have more meditation in store," Anne whispered derisively. "Discipline your mind and all that!"

"Yeah," Marcus grumbled. "I hope we can all fluster You-Know-Who by meditating."

"You know, I was reading some stuff this summer," Tim added. "Seems there are muggles who think they can move stuff and even fly through meditation."

"Those muggles!" Marcus exclaimed indulgently. "Always entertaining! Still, I'd like to have a bit of practical knowledge when the time comes."

Ethan hadn't joined in his friends' critique, partly because he had a feeling Ang Hsu wasn't as unaware as he appeared to be. But Ethan no longer dismissed Ang Hsu's techniques as readily as did his classmates. He wanted to learn spells that could repel dark magic as much as any of his friends, but he also knew that he'd escaped from Skryme's painting mainly through concentration, without dramatic spells.

The Bradburys all flopped down on pillows on the left side of the room. Ten Harrison second-years faced them, many looking at least as skeptical as Marcus or Anne.

"Practical knowledge!" Ang Hsu suddenly exclaimed, snapping his eyes open. Several of the students jumped off their pillows. "If that is what you seek than I trust that Defense Against the Dark Arts II will meet your expectations."

Marcus looked somewhat abashed; Ethan chuckled to himself.

"Would each of you raise your wands, please?" Ang Hsu said.

The class responded with alacrity. Within a few moments, twenty wands were held at the ready.

"Today, a most important defensive spell we shall begin to learn, yes," Ang Hsu told them. "But first, compose yourselves, as we learned to do last year, yes. Be at peace with yourselves, my students."

Most of the students, who had been so quick to wield their wands, drooped visibly at the apparent delay in putting them to use.

Ang Hsu took no notice. In fact, he again closed his eyes. Then he asked, "Are all of you composed? Let us see, then."

Ethan had allowed his eyes to close, too. He was trying to let go of all the confused thoughts that filled his mind, without too much success.

Suddenly a voice rang out, strong and certain. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Instantly, Ethan felt his wand fly up out of his hand. He opened his eyes to the sight of 20 air-borne wands as they arced up and then plunged to the floor.

"Ah, summer is long, I see," Ang Hsu said with a smile. "But you must remember, composure will help you resist, will also help you do. No matter. I have disarmed all of you with one spell. The disarming spell you must all learn, although few of you will be able to disarm so many with one spell."

To the general astonishment of the students, the diminutive teacher proceeded to teach them the wand movement for the spell. By the end of the period, they had paired off and begun practicing the disarming spell. Anne had succeeded in knocking Ethan's glasses off, but he'd yet to lose his wand. On the other hand, Ethan had sent Anne's wand flying against the wall twice.

After Hsu's class came Astronomy and then it was time for Flying. As they headed out to the Quidditch grounds, talk inevitably turned to the next day's tryouts.

"I didn't know _you_ had to try out," Marcus said to Tim.

"Remember, last year I was only a sub," Tim explained. "They can't just hand me the job."

"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't," Marcus remarked. He added, teasingly, "Maybe I could give you a run for your money. Or would I make a better Seeker?"

"Well, I think _I'd_ have a better shot against Tim," Anne opined. "After all, I've been playing against my brothers for years and they were all on the Bradbury team. But I've already said I think Ethan should go out for Seeker."

They'd reached the edge of the pitch now. The Tenskwatawa second-years were huddling further down the field.

"Don't joke," Ethan said, picking out a broom from the pile before them.

"She's not joking," Tim said in a tone of gentle reproof. "She's right. You were the best first-year Seeker in intramurals last year."

Ethan blushed as he looked at them.

"Maybe," he said. "But the key is 'first-year.' There are plenty of older students who'll beat me easily."

"Suit yourself, then," Marcus chimed in impishly. "I want as little competition as possible."

Bruno Galvez, the burly Flying master, greeted them in his usual bluff manner and assigned their positions. He made Ethan Keeper, possibly his worst position. By the half-hour mark, he'd already allowed 7 goals. Only some excellent bludger work by Anne and Melissa kept the game close. No official score was kept in intramurals, but everyone knew that Bradbury trailed 70-20.

At the break, Galvez shuffled the lineups. He moved Tim into the Keeper's spot, put Kyle and Marcus in as Chasers and told Ethan to play Seeker. Katrina Powles was assigned the Seeker spot for Tenskwatawa. This disappointed Ethan, as Katrina was one of the Prophets' better flyers.

The new lineup paid immediate dividends for Bradbury, as Kyle and Marcus each scored off assists from Peter. Tim made some great saves. Meanwhile, Ethan hovered above the fray, looking for the glint of the fluttering golden Snitch. Katrina stayed annoyingly close by, doing her best to distract Ethan while scanning for the snitch herself.

"How's the _artist_ today, Lloyd?" she asked derisively. "Maybe if you try flying in a thunderstorm your muse will hit?"

"Shut up, Katrina!" Ethan shouted back.

"I have you to thank for my darling twin annoying me all summer," she added. "I ought to jinx you good for that!"

"You mean he doesn't let you walk all over him anymore?" Ethan replied. "That was all him you know. No one else could do it for him."

Neither of them were paying attention to the game any longer. Katrina seemed to have come a bit unglued. She yelled furiously, "You gave him the ridiculous idea that he might have some serious magic in him."

With that, Katrina rammed angrily into Ethan's broom. He briefly lost his balance and swung down and to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a fleck of gold. Without another thought, he shot after it. The snitch spiraled down towards the ground, leading Ethan through the Chasers and Beaters, Katrina in belated pursuit. Back up and towards the Bradbury hoops went the snitch. Ethan saw his quarry round the hoops and head back towards the center of the pitch. But it found its way blocked by Tim, who was ready to defend against the Tenskwatawa Chasers. As the snitch swerved, Ethan reached out and grasped it. He held the tiny ball aloft and Galvez signaled that the match was over.

"I'm not through with you, Lloyd!" Katrina Powles snarled as she swooped back to join her teammates.

"He's shaking in his boots, Sis!" Peter yelled after her. He clearly enjoyed seeing the mixture of confusion and rage on his sister's face, but to Ethan he said darkly, "Better watch your back just the same. _I_ should know."

Later, at dinner, Ethan discovered that his friends had by no means abandoned their efforts to interest him in the house Quidditch team.

Over a pumpkin ice, he saw Anne and Tim share a conspiratorial glance.

He overheard Anne's whisper. "Well, if you're going to ask..."

"Umm, well, OK," Tim said, shifting a bit in his seat.

"What now?" Ethan asked. "If it's Quidditch, I told you, I wouldn't stand a chance. Besides, I don't want to mess up Marcus' chances."

"Oh, don't worry about him!" Tim exclaimed. "He was just kidding. He's not even going out for chaser. Wants to be a beater, but there aren't any openings this year."

"And as for all those upperclassmen you're worried about, there are only two so far," Anne said.

"How do you know?" Ethan asked.

"Kenny told us," Tim said. "Krista Leventhal, she's a third year, but Kenny doesn't think much of _her_. And Jimmy Sprague, he's a fifth year."

"I know him," Ethan said. "Is he any good?"

"OK, I guess," Tim continued. "But Kenny says that Danny's not sure about Sprague―for one thing, he's a proctor _and_ co-chair of Charms Club, so he's not sure how much time he'd have."

"And Danny told Kenny he'd love to see what you can do!" Anne added encouragingly. "And maybe you'll make it! Oh―and we won't speak to you for a month if you don't try."

"Well, then, I suppose I don't have a choice," Ethan said, resignation in his voice. "It's a bad idea, though!"

The first Saturday of the term dawned sunny and quite warm, as if summer was reluctant to leave the mountain top. As Ethan, Tim and Anne walked along the verandah after breakfast, the sun shone through haze upon the valley far below.

"Looks sticky down there," Anne remarked.

"Not as sticky as I'll be in an hour," Ethan said.

"Look, it will be fine," Tim told him. "Either you'll make it or you won't. Same for me."

Ethan appreciated the words, though he thought the most likely outcome would be that Tim would make the team and he wouldn't.

At ten o'clock they were at the Quidditch grounds. Ethan felt awkward wearing the heavy team robes he'd been issued for the tryouts, holding one of the school brooms in his right hand. Tim had donned the uniform he'd worn last year. He carried the Quicksilver broom Bancroft had gotten him when he'd been added to the team.

Danny Dewin, the Bradbury captain, was busy organizing about a dozen candidates according to the positions they hoped to win.

Most of the hopefuls had brought at least a few friends to cheer them on. Nearly all of the Bradbury first-years had come to watch Tim and Ethan try out. Kenny directed them well up into the stands, away from the players. As Ethan looked up at his friends, he noticed Professor Bancroft a few rows below them. He also saw three older students in the highest row. Though far away, he thought he recognized one as the Tenskwatawa team captain. He guessed that the other two were the captains of Tituba and Harrison.

Danny had the would-be chasers sit in the first row to his right. Tim turned to Ethan and wished him good luck as he went to join them.

"You too," Ethan told him. "Not that you'll need it."

"Now, seekers, sit over here!" Danny barked , pointing to his left. Ethan moved that way. Jimmy Sprague joined him, as did a tall, lean girl with short black hair who Ethan surmised must be Krista Leventhal. The three of them exchanged taciturn nods of greeting.

"Excuse me!" a voice piped up from among the chaser candidates.

"Yes, Gervase?" Danny asked, turning to a burly, square-shouldered boy Ethan did not know.

"Where do you want people who are trying out for both positions?"

"You just stay with the chasers for now," Danny told Gervase. "After we sort chaser out, you can move over with the seekers."

The tryouts began with each chaser candidate taking a turn on the line with Melinda Travisano and Kenny, the returning chasers. The beaters, Nick Cooper and Samantha Doxtater, did their best to disrupt any scoring opportunities. Danny, who was Keeper, manned the hoops.

While several of the hopefuls did quite well, Ethan followed the contest rather vaguely, partly because he was nervous and partly because he only really cared about how Tim did. Tim went last and put in a performance that rendered the others' efforts moot. He scored at will and assisted nicely as well.

Danny wasted no time in announcing that Tim had won the chaser's spot. The boy called Gervase grumbled loudly, "You barely tried to stop him!"

"No belly-aching if you want a try at seeker," Danny said tartly. "And you're just wrong, anyway. He's _that_ good, which you'd know if you were paying attention."

Gervase scowled but said nothing more as he moved over to sit with Jimmy, Krista and Ethan. He and Jimmy exchanged a nod of recognition, but neither spoke.

Ethan had begun to dislike Gervase. He acted as though he was entitled to a place on the team, though Ethan couldn't see why. As far as he could tell, Gervase couldn't be too bright: suggesting that Danny was partial to Tim didn't seem a likely way to endear himself to the captain.

Danny addressed the four Seeker candidates. "Now this tryout is simple, really. We're going to scrimmage down here. Two of you at a time will seek the Snitch. When one of you catches it, the other pair will have a go. Then the two winners will face off. If we don't finish today, we'll come back tomorrow morning. OK, Jimmy and Gervase, you're up!"

Jimmy jumped up. Gervase shot Danny a venomous look. Ethan heard him mutter, "Put _me_ up against the fifth-year, will you?"

"What's that, Gervase?" Danny asked, sounding irritated.

""Nothing," Gervase replied. "Nothing at all."

They mounted their brooms. Danny released the snitch, which quickly zig-zagged off into the autumn sky. Jimmy and Gervase headed up after it as the rest of the players started drills below. Ethan watched as the two older boys flew up above the scrum in search of the fluttering snitch.

One minute passed, then ten, then twenty. Nothing really happened. Ethan felt a knot growing in his stomach as he had a chance to think about his own turn. The chasers and beaters worked on plays. Jimmy and Gervase flew all over the pitch or, rather, Jimmy flew around and Gervase shadowed him.

The two seekers flew past the benches, distracting Ethan from his worries. As he watched them speed away again, he thought to himself, _Gervase must think Jimmy will lead him to it._ Jimmy must have sensed this, too, for just then he feinted left and shot off the other way. Gervase swore loudly, then barreled off after Jimmy, who had actually spotted the snitch.

Ethan was sure that Jimmy, clearly the superior flyer, would reach the snitch first. And Ethan was rooting for Jimmy, for Gervase's grumbled had rubbed him the wrong way. So it came as no surprise when Jimmy came flying back past the bench, one hand outstretched for the snitch, which was just inches ahead of him. At the last second, the winged ball slipped to Jimmy's left and reversed direction. As Jimmy swung around to catch it, there was a terrible crash as he slammed into Gervase, who was still hurrying to catch up. When they separated, Jimmy veered down towards the ground. As he did, Ethan saw the snitch, fluttering but immobile, stuck in one of Gervase's button holes. It took Gervase a moment longer to figure this out, but when he did he grabbed the snitch and held it up with a triumphant whoop.

Danny Dewin flew over, confirmed the catch and said matter-of-factly, "Well, we have our first finalist, Gervase Cullen."

Some of Jimmy's friends hooted their disapproval from the stands.

"He didn't catch it!" one of them yelled. "He just ran into it!"

"Yes, well we don't give points for style, just results," Danny shrugged. Jimmy had landed and shaken hands with Gervase. As he resumed his seat on the bench next to Ethan, he motioned to his friends to cease their complaints.

Danny continued, "OK, Lloyd and Leventhal, you're up!"

Ethan swallowed hard. As he and Krista mounted their brooms, Danny released the snitch once again. This time the ball started off low and Ethan got a bead on it as it flew down towards the set of hoops the team was practicing around. He soon found that Krista wasn't a very good flyer. A stray bludger whizzed by her head and flustered her. Ethan concentrated on where he'd seen the snitch go, although it had managed to disappear towards the other end of the field. He zoomed down the field and went higher to get a better view. Krista followed but a gust of wind slowed her down. Ethan could hardly believe it when, a moment later, the snitch flashed right in front of him. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed it, then held it high. As he flew down to the bench, he could hear his friends' cheers. Krista congratulated him and sat down. Ethan thought she looked more relieved than disappointed.

Tim flew over and slapped him on the back. "Way to go!" he said enthusiastically. "Knew you could do it!"

Ethan flushed and replied in a low voice, "I hardly had to do anything, though."

"You heard Danny, points for results, not style!" Tim admonished him. "Now, once more!"

Danny already had the snitch ready for the final. "OK, it's down to Gervase Cullen and Ethan Lloyd. Off you go!"

As Ethan got ready to kick off, Jimmy Sprague grabbed his arm.

"Go get it, Lloyd!" he said with a weak smile. "Just don't let him run you over!"

Ethan nodded, not sure what to say. He didn't really know Jimmy very well, so his words of encouragement came as a surprise.

There was no time to think about it, for Danny had just set the snitch free. Ethan and Gervase hurtled after it, but this time it quickly vanished. Ethan ascended well above the other players. As he scanned the sky for the snitch, he sensed Gervase hovering just behind him. Remembering the way Gervase had shadowed Jimmy, Ethan decided to keep moving―back and forth, up and down―in an effort to tire his opponent.

The sounds of the scrimmage―the thud of the beaters' bats on the bludger, the slap of the quaffle against the keeper's gloved hands―seemed far away. It was past noon, the early fall sun high in the sky.

Suddenly Ethan saw a flicker of light off to his left, down among the other players. He glanced that way and saw sunlight flickering off the wings of the snitch. Gervase was just behind him. Instead of turning toward the snitch, Ethan darted the other way. Whether Gervase was near-sighted or just lazy, he followed Ethan, who made a series of quick turns and came back toward the snitch's last position.

Ethan saw no sign of his quarry. The gamble had failed. He stopped dead, searching vainly. The next instant, he was jolted from behind, so hard he nearly flew off the front of his broomstick.

"What did you stop for?" spluttered Gervase, who once again had failed to stop in time. "I thought you..."

Ethan regained his balance, turned and fairly shouted back, "Thought what? That I'd lead you to the snitch? Find it yourself."

With that, he sped off angrily, not paying much attention to where he was going. He knew he'd never flown faster. He wanted to put some distance between himself and Gervase, even if he'd lost track of the snitch. He found himself back in the midst of the scrimmage now. A bludger whistled past him, followed by the quaffle, which Kenny had hurled toward the left hoop.

Ethan slowed down to get his bearings. As he did, he heard Tim shouting at him. "There, Ethan, above the keeper!"

He looked up and there it was, a few feet over Danny's head, almost taunting him. Gervase hadn't caught up yet, so Ethan climbed quickly. The snitch made what Ethan thought was a rather half-hearted effort to escape, jumping just out of reach as he passed. But when Ethan turned left to pursue, he was able to reach out and grasp the flying ball easily.

The other players had stopped their drills to watch as Ethan closed in for the capture. A cheer went up when he held up the snitch and everyone coasted down to the ground. Danny and Kenny shook Ethan's hand, the other first-years hurried down from the stands to cheer him along with Tim, Krista and Jimmy both congratulated him.

Ethan made to shake hands with Gervase, but the older boy just blustered off towards the locker room, muttering something about "deking" and "playing favorites."

"Well, it looks like we've got a team," Danny said. "Now the real work starts. First practice tomorrow at 4."

Ethan stood there, still a bit dazed by his good fortune, as his new teammates headed off to change. He'd had no real hope that would win the tryout and, he reflected, he had by no means taken the competition by storm. Krista really hadn't tested him and the snitch had behaved strangely in the final.

"Come on, Seeker!" Marcus' voice broke Ethan's reverie. "Let's get some lunch while we still can."

Ethan hurried to catch up to Tim on the way to the lockers. A few minutes later, they were ensconced at the Bradbury table in the Assembly Hall. Ethan felt they were uncomfortably close to Gervase Cullen, who was still grumbling to his 4th-year friends about the unfairness and favoritism of it all.

"Don't worry, he'll get over it," Anne said confidently. "The way he was acting, he probably thought he'd have his choice of positions."

"He must not have watched our matches last year, if he thought he was going to get chaser," Marcus observed.

On the way back to Bradbury Tower after lunch, Ethan hung back with Tim.

"Didn't you think it was a little too easy?" Ethan asked.

"What do you mean?" Tim replied.

"Well, when I caught up to the snitch , it just sort of sat there. It almost begged me to catch it."

"You think someone fixed it for you?" Tim laughed. "The snitch is unpredictable, Ethan. That's what makes the game unique. You just got lucky...and luck isn't a bad thing. What's more, to get lucky you have to be good! Stop doubting yourself, will you?"

Ethan shrugged, unsatisfied.

By three o'clock, he was outside Swope's studio, as ready as he could be to finish the landscape.

The door swung open and Swope's ravaged face appeared.

"Well, come in, Mr. Lloyd," he said. "I heard that your tryouts went well."

Ethan nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Very good! Now I trust that puts you in the mood to create some art."

"I'm not sure, sir," Ethan answered, more honestly than he'd intended.

"Hmmm," Swope frowned slightly. "Perhaps we'd best talk first, then. Sit down, please."

He motioned to his desk, which sat in the inner corner of the room. Ethan slid into the armchair next to the desk. Swope flicked his wand towards a canvas, which rolled itself up and deposited itself in a bin nearby.

"Let me see, Lloyd. Last year, you were the only student in your class to show any real talent at art," Swope said, rolling his wand between his fingers. "And that talent seemed to be substantial. Am I correct?"

Ethan blushed. "I guess so, sir."

"Don't be so modest, Mr. Lloyd," Swope said. "I've talked to the headmaster and I've seen Professor Skryme's notes―and whatever else he was up to, he knew artistic ability when he saw it. I arrive this fall and find you unable―or maybe unwilling―to do a simple landscape. I'm probably no great shakes as a teacher, but even I couldn't squash the talent out of you that fast."

Ethan shifted a bit in the chair. Swope leaned over the desk and scrunched his face up in what he apparently thought was a look of kindly concern. In truth it made his countenance more alarming than usual.

"You can tell me your troubles, Mr. Lloyd," Swope said, his eyes fixed on Ethan. "What's behind your block? I'm sure you know. Get it off your chest."

Ethan tried to remain guarded, but under Swope's gaze he felt compelled to speak.

"Well, sir, it's like this," he said. "At first, I loved learning magical art. It came so easily, it seemed like I was born for it. And Skryme...well, Professor Skryme was my favorite teacher, at least one of them. And then..."

"Yes?" Swope sat back and rested his chin thoughtfully on folded hands.

"Well, then I found out how he used magical art. He tortured my portrait of my best friend and that affected Tim, too. He trapped me in one of his paintings. He would have killed me." Ethan stopped, the memories flooding back. He took a deep breath.

"And then I turn up, not the most reputable sort, to take over the post," Swope interjected with a grim laugh. "I know appearances are against me."

"No!" Ethan said. "It's got nothing to do with you. I just don't want my art to be used to hurt people. I don't want to end up like...him."

"That's very noble of you, Mr. Lloyd," Swope said, arching an eyebrow. "Do you feel tempted by dark magic, son? Are you apt to make the same choices Roscoe Skryme did?"

"No, of course not!" Ethan responded indignantly. "But he used _my_ work for dark purposes, didn't he?"

"So you've learned a lesson, then," Swope said. "A hard lesson, for sure. Make sure you learn the right lesson!"

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked skeptically.

"Well, remind me what it is you want to prevent?" Swope asked in return.

"I told you already, sir," Ethan said, his voice edged in frustration. "I don't want to make a portrait of a friend―or anyone, really―only to have some dark wizard use an Unforgivable Curse on it."

"And the way to accomplish that is?" Swope continued. "To forget about your talent? To keep it bottled up inside?"

"I don't know any other way, sir," Ethan replied, but as soon as the words left his mouth he began to wonder.

"And you've done exhaustive research to to reach that conclusion, I assume?" Swope asked. "Really, Mr. Lloyd, I'm given to understand you've got decent brains in that head. It would be nice to see you use them."

Ethan blushed, but Swope wasn't finished.

"And let's see―your other problem with magical art was what? Oh, yes, you were trapped in someone else's painting. And your solution to that? Oh, yes! Don't create any art yourself. That's sensible!" the teacher concluded wryly.

By now, Ethan felt utterly foolish.

"If you think I'm a complete idiot, why don't you just say so!" he exclaimed, barely remembering to add "Sir!"

"I don't think that," Swope said quickly. "Not at all. You've correctly identified two major hazards of magical art. But your thought process from that point is faulty, I'm afraid."

Ethan didn't know what to say.

"You seem to believe that no one in the history of wizardry has ever run up against these problems," Swope continued. "What's more, you seem to think you know all there is to know about magical art. Both assumptions are, I suppose, common to those your age."

By now, Ethan's discomfort was being overcome by the hope that he might find a way to keep doing something he loved, after all.

"What you need to do is ask questions," Swope concluded, pointing a finger at his head. "Use your brain, lad!"

"OK, how can I stop people using my paintings for evil?" Ethan asked quietly.

"That's it," Swope said with a crooked smile. "There are spells that can protect your work. You might be able to learn them in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I expect Ang Hsu would teach you if you'd ask. As it happens, I'm fairly good at some of them myself. And as for your other problem, I'm not sure that any wizard alive today could repeat Skryme's spell. It was a great feat of magic, even if it was done for an evil purpose."

"Will you teach me, sir?" Ethan asked.

"'Course I will," Swope replied. "We'll have to do it outside normal class, of course. Maybe Saturday afternoons would be good, at least on non-quidditch days. Now, how about finishing your work from the other day?"

"Sure!" Ethan said, relieved.

"You'll find it in your usual place," Swope said, enlarging his model sketch with a flick of his wand.

Ethan moved to his easel, picked up a pencil and got ready to sketch. Although he was rusty, he felt happier than he had for many months. Within the hour he'd completed a very fair copy of Swope's work. He had altered it, leaving out some of the dark, billowing clouds and letting the sun shine more directly on the farmhouse.

Swope scanned the finished sketch approvingly. "Not bad at all, Lloyd," he said. "A different sensibility than mine, to be sure, which is all to the good. Now, let's see you come back here same time next week―quidditch allowing―and we can start some defensive work."

Ethan's heart sang as he left Swope's studio. He practically skipped back to Bradbury Tower. "Whiffletree!" he shouted to the Dutchman, who allowed the common room door to swing open.

Before Ethan could tell his friends about his session with Swope, Anne looked up from reading and said, "Bancroft wants to see you in his office."

"'bout what?" Ethan asked, nonplussed.

"Don't know," Anne said. "He just wanted you to drop by his office before dinner."

"Maybe he wants to order you a broom," Marcus suggested helpfully.

"Yeah, maybe that's it," Ethan said. He turned and headed back out the portrait hole.

"No rest for the weary!" the Dutchman grumbled as Ethan left.

"Tell me about it!" Ethan called over his shoulder as he trudged down to Bancroft's office next to the History classroom. He found the professor standing just outside his office door.

"Ah, Mr. Lloyd, excellent!" he said. "Do come in! By the way, congratulations on making seeker! You really had that snitch's number today."

As they entered the room, Professor Bancroft motioned Ethan to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Ethan saw that the grey-haired, green-eyed wizard whose portrait hung behind Bancroft's desk was eyeing him with interest.

Ethan looked expectantly at Bancroft, waiting for him to launch a discussion of broomstick choices. After a few seconds, he decided Bancroft was waiting for him.

"I suppose I should look into getting a broom, sir," he said.

Bancroft looked up from his desk.

"Yes, that's an excellent idea," he said. "Perhaps you can ask your parents to send you one. I'm sure Danny Dewin or Kenny could advise you on a good model."

Ethan nodded, though he was disappointed that this didn't seem to be the reason for Bancroft's summons. The history teacher continued.

"Now then, Mr. Lloyd," he said as he shuffled forms on the desk and pulled one piece of parchment out from amongst the others. "The headmaster suggested that you take on a special task this year and I concur."

"Yes, sir," Ethan said, trying not to show the excitement that he felt knowing that Flyte had a job for him to do.

"There is a new student in the house who we feel needs some looking after," Bancroft continued as he looked Ethan in the eye. "He's having a difficult time adjusting; we don't want him to fall behind or get too discouraged."

"Of course not, sir," Ethan agreed.

"We feel you may be just the man to help bring him along," Bancroft told him. "Show him the ropes, help him out until he can stand on his own."

"I can do that, Professor. I remember all the first-year coursework, I should be able to tutor him..."

"Oh, we're not so worried about the academic side of things," Bancroft added. "It's the life of the school that he's having a hard time getting used to. We think you'll be especially helpful because your backgrounds are rather similar."

"Really?" Ethan said, a bit crestfallen. He tried to remember anything he'd heard about the Bradbury first-year boys, but he could barely remember their names yet, except of course for Alec.

"Well, that is to say, you grew up with muggles," Bancroft said. "And this boy's muggle-born. He's homesick, of course--at least half of you are at some point in the first term; he's a bit small for his age and timid to boot--perfect prey for bullies and sad to say, Kaaterskill's always had its share of bullies. I'm told he's got a good aptitude for charms and herbology, but it seems he's too distracted and fearful to concentrate."

"Professor?"

"Yes, Ethan?"

"It does sound like this boy needs some help, but what makes you think I'll be able to give it to him. It sounds like he might need a bodyguard!"

Bancroft chuckled.

"Oh no, my boy, just a role model! You, after all--please excuse me for pointing it out--you are neither the tallest nor the strongest nor the fastest in your class, and you had to put up with more taunts and bullying last year than any student I can remember. But here you are--not only did you survive it, you also achieved remarkable things both in and out of class."

Ethan blushed. He noticed that the wizard in the painting behind Bancroft was now beaming at him.

"Well, I'll do what I can, sir," Ethan told Bancroft. "Who is the boy?"

"Why, I thought you might have guessed...it's young Mr. Evans," Bancroft replied.

"Alec Evans, sir?"

"None other!" Bancroft exclaimed. "I know you'll be a great help to him. Just promise me you'll keep him out of trouble."

"I'll do my best, sir," was what he told Bancroft. _Why me?_ was what he thought to himself, as he once again climbed Bradbury Tower, this time pondering his new assignment.


	9. Chapter 9: An Errand to the Falls

Chapter Nine:

An Errand to The Falls

As the leaves on the mountain top began to turn yellow, red and orange, Ethan slipped imperceptibly into a routine. Class followed class, day after day, punctuated by meals, weekly assemblies and ever-longer homework sessions. Quidditch practice filled much of his free time; to Ethan's disappointment, practice preempted his planned Saturday sessions with Swope for several weeks.

He intended to do a better job of writing home to his parents than he had first year. He dutifully recounted for them his vision of the phantom ship. Professor Bancroft had told him that the headmaster had written them immediately anyway, so Ethan had sent a quick note the next day to let them know he was OK. They had written back the next day. Although they professed to be satisfied that all was well, Ethan could sense their worry. So he resolved to write once a week. As the weeks passed and he had nothing unusual to report, the tone of their letters became more relaxed.

Indeed, Ethan was only reminded of the incident by the scar on his arm, which had faded but refused to entirely disappear.

Alec Evans also refused to disappear, darting in and out of Ethan's routine continually.

Ethan took his promise to Bancroft seriously, which meant that he not only tried to help Alec with his homework when asked (which wasn't often) but also tried to advise him on how to keep out of trouble.

Marcus had snorted when Ethan told him of Bancroft's request.

"_You're_ supposed to steer _him_ clear of danger? You could just tell him to stay well away from you!"

Ethan had, in fact, succeeded in keeping out of trouble himself for long enough to feel aggrieved by such statements.

"Thanks, Marcus!" he said, mildly irritated.

Alec seemed to appreciate Ethan's efforts and and followed his advice―or at least attempted to do so. It seemed to Ethan that his young charge did try to stand out as little as possible. However, Alec's first few days at school had established his reputation. His classmates now expected him to stick his neck out when the honor of the class or house was threatened. Thus it was that Alec ended up in the middle of a brawl during the first-years' quidditch scrimmage with Tenskwatawa. He'd received a shiner from a bludger that had been hurled at his left eye. But he'd also managed to use the _Expelliarmus_ spell Ethan had taught him to disarm an attacker who was about to cast a Jelly-legs jinx on him.

Although Alec had received detention from Galvez for his role in the brawl, this only served to increase his standing with the first-years, since none of them had even seen the disarming spell in class yet.

Even Bancroft seemed impressed, though he couldn't say so publicly. He did call Ethan aside after one history lesson for a quick word.

"I see our friend Mr. Evans is learning to fend for himself," Bancroft said. "Of course, I don't condone getting into such scrapes, but it's good to see he's picking up some useful skills. And I assume you must have had something to do with that. Just don't let it go to his head, eh?"

In truth, Ethan gained a good deal of respect among his own classmates after this incident. Many of the second-years hadn't mastered the spell themselves, yet Ethan had been able to teach it to a first-year.

Danny finally gave the Bradbury Quidditch team a Saturday afternoon off―he had a big test in Transfiguration coming up and some of the older students were swamped as well. So Ethan was free to visit Swope for an extra art session after lunch. He'd looked forward to learning the protective spells Swope had mentioned. But in fact, just an awareness of their existence had eased his mind enough that his creativity had returned. So much so, in fact, that he no longer felt too enthusiastic about spending Saturday afternoons alone with the gruff, eccentric art teacher.

When Ethan reached the art studio, he found the door open. He poked his head in and spied Swope seated before a canvas across the room. The curtains were drawn, cutting off the autumn sunlight that otherwise would have cascaded into the room.

The art teacher looked up and greeted Ethan.

"Mr. Lloyd, at last, do come in!"

Ethan walked over and saw that Swope had been working on another gray streetscape. In this one, a straggle of odd buildings lined a street that ran down to a harbor.

"That's the Landing, right?" he asked.

"Very good!" Swope answered. "Decided I should make use of the local sources of inspiration. Now, you wish to learn how to protect your work, eh?"

"Yes, sir," Ethan replied.

"Good! Now where shall we start?" Swope set down his brushes. "I suppose you can name the basic types of magical images?"

"Well, there are portraits and landscapes and still-lifes," Ethan said. "Is that what you mean?"

"Not precisely," Swope said. "That is, those are certainly categories of art, whether magical or muggle. What I refer to are the two large classes of magical pictures: those with sentient creatures depicted in them, and those without such subjects. The latter class doesn't concern us. There are a number of sub-categories in the first class. Can you name some of them?"

"Well, the portraits must be one," Ethan offered.

"Yes, formal portraits of persons who were living at the time of sitting," Swope confirmed.

Remembering Professor Skryme's painting of Spook Woods, Ethan added, "Landscapes can have people in them, too."

"Absolutely, and not just humans," Skryme agreed. "Any being―centaurs, merpeople, goblins."

Ethan remembered something Raven Man had told him when he was trapped in Skryme's landscape.

"Sir, can beings be in a painting without the artist knowing it?"

"Doesn't happen often," Swope replied. "But it's theoretically possible, I suppose." He gave Ethan an appraising look. "Now what have we missed so far?"

"Umm, what about cartoons and stuff?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, and that opens a whole subject ― fictional characters," Swope said. "Beings that spring fully from the mind of the artist."

"I'd never really thought of them before now," Ethan confessed.

"Now that we've brought in different media, we might as well enumerate all of them," Swope continued. "There are paintings, drawings, sculpture and, let us not forget, photography. Each with its special qualities and limitations."

"Photographs, sir?" Ethan asked. "Do they really count as art?"

"Now there's a question that could keep muggles and wizards arguing for years," Swope answered. "Photographs certainly _can_ be art, but as magical art they're quite limited. No one's figured out how to apply _Accipite Mentis_ to a snapshot. That only works with paintings and drawings and some sculpture."

But Ethan was growing impatient with Swope's cataloging. Eager to get on to something practical, he burst out, "So what spells do I need to learn?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself!" Swope told him reprovingly. "That varies greatly, depending on the type of work and the level of security you need."

So Ethan had to wait as Swope entered into a lengthy discussion of the hypothetical situations that might arise with regard to painting security. It turned out that the most basic security spell was called _Protegera Pictura_. Swope was not ready to teach Ethan the spell, though.

"Let's look at some examples first," he said. "Have you ever seen the school museum, Mr. Lloyd?"

Ethan was not aware that Kaaterskill had a museum, so all he could say was "No, sir."

"I thought not," Swope said with a grunt. "Skryme undoubtedly felt his own work was superior to anything that came before. Come on, I think you're in for a treat."

With that, Swope stood up and walked towards a door that Ethan had never noticed before on the far side of the room. Ethan followed Swope and stepped across the threshold into a room unlike any he'd seen at Kaaterskill and yet somehow familiar.

Dim light filtered down from skylights far above. Torches arranged at intervals cast a flickering light around the octagonal room. Every inch of wall space was covered by pictures of all sorts, from the floor all the way up to the distant ceiling.

Arranged in the center of the room were several glass and wood cases, containing an odd assortment of relics, shiny metal instruments and old books.

Among the paintings were landscapes, still-lifes, genre scenes, but most of all there were portraits. As Ethan's eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he was taken aback by what seemed to be hundreds of faces turned toward him.

"They're not used to company," Swope told him. "And I'm afraid my predecessor treated them rather poorly."

Ethan shuddered, thinking of what Skryme had done to Tim's portrait. "Don't they have the protective spells?"

"Most do, but not all," said Swope. "And remember that Skryme interested himself in testing the limits of art―and its security. Come with me, now."

Swope moved towards the far wall. As he followed along, Ethan heard whispers and low murmurs rising from the walls.

"Who's that boy?" asked the image of an elderly woman in a long emerald gown seated before a fireplace.

"Don't know; never seen him," said her companion, a man in a Civil War-era uniform. "Why don't you ask him?"

"No! Remember last year...no questions!" the lady said emphatically.

"That _was_ last year, dear,' the man said. "New man, don't you know. He may not look pretty, but he hasn't harmed a flake of paint on anyone yet. Anyway, the boy looks familiar to me, not sure why."

"Excuse me," Ethan said, turning to the couple. "You can ask _me_. I won't bite. My name is Ethan Lloyd."

"Lloyd!" exclaimed the uniformed man. "Llew told me he had family here again, of course. I'm Phillip Crane and this is my wife, Matilda. What brings you to this gloomy corner of Kaaterskill?"

"Oh, ummm, Professor Swope is teaching me about protective spells," Ethan said.

"I told you to hold your tongue!" Matilda told her husband reprovingly. "See, more experiments!"

"No, it's not like that," Ethan said. "He wants to show me how to protect my own work. I'm an artist."

There was a moment's silence, as the couple in the portrait hesitated. In that moment, Ethan realized that this was the first time he'd identified himself in those terms. And he further realized that "artist" expressed a part of his essence, something just as central as his discovery that he was a wizard.

"Well, that's different, I suppose," Matilda Crane admitted. "But tell me"--and she lowered her voice to a whisper--"did you have Roscoe Skryme as a teacher? Is this one really different?"

Swope was examining paintings at the far end of the room, apparently oblivious to the conversation behind him.

"Oh yes, I had Skryme," Ethan said. "And I can see why you'd be afraid of him. After all, he trapped me inside a painting and then tried to kill me."

"Really? I had no idea that was possible," Phillip Crane's visage said. "You poor boy!"

"Well, here I am in one piece," Ethan said, blushing a bit. "And Professor Swope's different; I don't think you need to fear him."

"Come along, Lloyd!" Swope called. "I'm sure it's pleasant chatting, but there's something I'd like you to see here."

The Cranes nodded in farewell as Ethan moved to Swope's side. He scanned the paintings on this wall. He realized that some were images of the school in earlier times, though it seemed to him that details such as the locations of the towers had changed. There were landscape views of the valley below Kaaterskill. And the subjects of perhaps two-dozen more portraits looked down on them as well.

As Ethan perused their visages, he thought some seemed familiar. He noted that a few bore a resemblance to his father―green eyes, pointy chin, unkempt hair―and one or two looked a bit like his mother. He wanted to take a closer look, but Swope wanted him to view the painting of a portly, mustachioed man in a three-piece suit of the Victorian era.

"Now, some paintings get the highest level of protection," Swope said. "For example, Ellsworth Huntington, perhaps the greatest Secretary of Magic of the 19 century."

The portrait's subject inclined his towards them in a dignified way.

"There are multiple spells on the Secretary's image," Swope continued. "But the most basic, _Protegera Pictura_, has also been applied to most of these paintings. This spell is the foundation of painting security."

"How can you tell a picture is protected?" Ethan asked.

"If the spell's done right, you won't know until you cast an unfriendly spell at the painting," Swope explained. "And if Mr. Huntington doesn't mind, I'd like to demonstrate."

"Do your worst, Professor!" Huntington said. In a loud voice, he added, "Everyone else, please don't put yourselves into a tizzy. This is an educational demonstration."

"Thank you, sir," Swope said. "Ethan, would you stand back and observe closely, please?"

Swope pointed his wand at Huntington's portrait and shouted "_Imperio_!" His voice sounded harsh to Ethan's ears. A jet of light flew at the painting. An instant later, the light reached the frame. There was a loud bang; the light of the spell was diverted around the frame. It flickered for a moment and went out.

"So you see, Ethan," Swope said. "I cast a powerful curse, an Unforgivable Curse indeed, and it was repelled without any effect on the Secretary."

Swope looked at his watch. "Dear me, look at the time," he said. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue the lesson next week."

As they returned to the studio, Ethan's eye settled on a large canvas of a stormy river. The gloom of the image reminded him of Swope's own work. But his gaze froze when a flaming ship appeared at the center of the canvas.

"Professor?" he called out.

Swope was almost out the door. He turned back towards Ethan.

"Yes, Mr. Lloyd? Oh, you _would_ be interested in that, wouldn't you?" he replied. "The only known image of the Phantom Ship painted from life. Does it look familiar?"

"Yeah, it does," Ethan said as he looked in fascination at the ship―ablaze yet never consumed―sailing into a full gale. A full moon peeked out of rolling clouds above the ghostly vessel. "Who painted it? How old is it?"

"All we know is there in the lower right corner," Swope told him. Ethan's eyes moved to a signature in white paint on the dark background: "Pieter Van Tassel 1722."

"But who was he?" Ethan asked.

"All I can say is that there are a few landscapes with this signature―but none dated later than 1722. There's nothing more to tell. So come along, I've got another appointment."

Back in the studio, Swope dismissed Ethan, telling him to return the following week when he would begin to teach the _Protegera Pictura_ spell.

Ethan headed back to Bradbury, any disappointment at the delay in learning the spell overshadowed by his excitement at what he had just seen.

After dinner, Ethan told Anne and Tim about the painting of the ship as they lounged in the common room.

"How do you know the artist actually saw the ship?" Tim asked practically. "Maybe he was just using his imagination."

"Well, Swope said it was 'painted from life,'" Ethan said. "That means he saw it as he painted."

"Well, how would Swope know?" Anne asked. "I mean, he looks like he's been through a lot, but he's not _that_ old."

"Maybe there's a catalog card or some file that came in with the painting," Ethan suggested. "Besides it's exactly the way I saw the ship. He couldn't have made that up so perfectly."

"But Swope told you the artist didn't paint much of anything else?" Tim asked.

"No...at least nothing later than the ship painting," Ethan recalled.

Anne looked at him sharply. "Umm...you don't think that means..."

Tim continued her thought. "That he saw the ship, painted it, and then..."

Ethan finished. "He died because of the curse of the Phantom Ship? Yeah, the thought had crossed my mind."

"It does sound a bit ominous," Anne agreed. "Maybe we need to find out more about Pieter Van Tassel."

The boys nodded.

"Next time we have a chance, let's see what we can find in the library," Tim suggested.

As it happened, homework kept them from seeking out Van Tassel references in the library the following week. At the end of the week, Alec provided another distraction.

On Friday, Ethan and his classmates returned from intramural quidditch to find the common room in an uproar. Ellis Northrup and Tally Gibson pounced on the 2nd-years and both started talking at once.

"You'll never believe...outrageous...happened so quick...I wanted to tell Bancroft...you've got to do something Ethan."

"Wait! Tally, be quiet!" Marcus shouted at his sister. "One at a time! OK, Northrup, now slowly...what's happened?"

Tally gave her brother an aggrieved look.

"We'd just finished Charms and were starting off for Music when the whole corridor went black," Ellis told them. "And then someone did a retrieving spell, I think. I didn't really catch it all."

"They said '_Accio _Evans' wand'," Tally interjected. "I heard it!"

"The darkness cleared after a bit and Alec's wand was gone," Ellis continued. "But they left a note."

"I bet I know what turned everything black," said Marcus. "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which means whoever did this shops where Kyle and me shop. Cortelyou's is the only place it's sold over here."

"What does the note say?" Ethan asked.

"Alec's got it," Ellis told him.

Alec was at the head of a table, surrounded by the other first-years, who were all chattering wildly. He was clearly none the worse for wear, so Ethan tried not to appear too solicitous.

"Hi, Ethan," Alec said, looking up. "I didn't try to get into trouble, really!"

"I know, Alec! Let's see this note, then," Ethan replied, feigning displeasure. Alec passed him a crumpled scrap of parchment. He scanned the verse, which read:

_Evans is a silly twit_

_who really should just up and quit._

_To help the mudblood to decide, _

_we took his wand out for a ride._

_If he were wise, he'd head for home._

_But if he does ignore our poem,_

_his wand he'll find below the Falls,_

_where Standish grows the pumpkins tall._

"We're going to head out now, before it gets dark," Alec said. "Shane says he knows how to get to the Falls."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," Ethan told him curtly. "A bunch of first-years and you without even a wand? Give me a break―you'd get yourselves expelled for sure!"

"That's probably what they're counting on," Tim added sagely. "Tell one of your proctors. They'll get Bancroft to help."

"But we haven't seen any of the proctors. They're in some meeting," Alec protested. "We want to go _now_!"

"Well, you can't," Ethan said flatly. He'd promised to keep Alec out of trouble and he didn't want to let Bancroft down. At the same time, he agreed with Alec that there was no time to lose.

He motioned to Alec. "Come with me," he said.

Ethan headed for the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Alec and Tim followed.

"What are you going to do?" Anne called after them in frustration. "Thanks for including me―not!"

"Sorry," Marcus said to her as he, Kyle and Peter followed the other boys up the stairs. "I'll tell you when I figure it out myself."

When they reached the 2nd-years' dorm, Ethan sat Alec down. He then opened his trunk and delved down to the bottom.

"I'll go find your wand," Ethan said as he pulled a small amulet out of the trunk.

"No, Ethan!" Tim protested. "You can't...you'll just get yourself expelled instead of Alec."

"I'll take that chance," Ethan replied firmly.

"Well, not alone," Tim rejoined. "You need someone with a cool head along with you."

"I do, do I?" Ethan said. "Ok, then get over here, quick! Alec, head up to your own dorm, will you? We'll be back with your wand as soon as we can."

"All right, Ethan," Alec said. He reluctantly headed for the door. As he turned to go upstairs, he looked back just in time to see Ethan throw the amulet's chain over his head and then over Tim. He gasped as the two older boys vanished. Ethan and Tim headed downstairs and passed Marcus, Kyle and Peter on their way up.

"Do you have that note?" Tim whispered as they reached the common room and headed for the door.

Ethan nodded. He noticed Anne, still looking disgruntled, as they left.

"We only need to keep the amulet on until we're out of sight of the school.

"Good!" Tim replied as they stumbled down the Disconcerting Stair.

They worked their way down to the Entry Hall, dodging students and teachers, who were by now heading to the Assembly Hall for dinner.

On the first floor, they nearly ran smack-dab into Tiverton, who had just stepped off one of the stairways that led up from the dungeons. Tim plastered himself against the wall and pulled Ethan after him just in time. The teacher must have felt their breeze, for he paused and looked about suspiciously. Ethan felt his heart pound as Tiverton looked straight at him―without seeing him. As Tiverton resumed his course down the hall, the two boys breathed a sighed of relief and headed for the entry.

As they reached the door, it swung open and Standish, the gnomish groundskeeper entered. Ethan and Tim slipped out past him.

The sun was sinking ahead of them over the western mountains. They turned to their left and walked as quickly as they could away from the school and towards the stream that ran down from the lake. Reaching the burbling brook, they began to follow it downstream. Ethan had been told that this stream led to The Falls, although he had no idea exactly where Standish grew his pumpkins.

As the school faded into the dusk behind them, Ethan stopped and slid the amulet over his head. Tim followed suit and Ethan slipped the amulet into his pocket.

"Well, on we go then," Ethan said. He looked downstream anxiously. The stream-bed plunged into the woods about fifty yards from where they stood. Neither boy had ever ventured into the woods towards the south. On the one occasion they'd been west of the stream, they'd met―and nearly been squashed by―a Sasquatch.

"You reckon the stream will bring us straight to the pumpkin patch?" Tim asked as they set off again.

"I hope so," Ethan answered. "Of course, the only thing we have to go on is that note."

"We can hardly trust whoever wrote that rhyme," Tim said.

Ethan shrugged.

A grassy path ran along the east bank of the stream. Evening dew had begun to form, making the way slippery; the occasional fallen branch, stone or root tripped them if they tried to hurry. Before long they had to light their wand tips to help them navigate in the growing gloom.

It seemed to Ethan that these woods were more open than those northwest of the school in which he's been lost his first year. Large maples were spread widely with just a few tall pines mixed in. The maples had shed most of their leaves. A deep leaf carpet muffled sound all around.

Ethan strained his ears, expecting to hear the waterfall before he saw it.

But after about half an hour, they reached a clearing from which the stream simply dropped off the edge of an escarpment. The boys had so little warning of this that they nearly did the same. They both teetered on the edge of the precipice for a moment before steadying themselves.

"Whew!" was all Tim said. Ethan caught his breath, partly due to their near-miss but also because of the sight before them. From somewhere to their right the last few rays of sun were shining through a narrow cascade of water. Some distance down the cliff a rocky pool caught the water and immediately discharged it over a second fall. Ethan couldn't see the base of the falls, but thought it must be hundreds of feet below.

"Well, do you think Standish gardens at the top of the Falls or the bottom?" Tim asked.

"Down there!" Ethan said, pointing to a cleared area far below in which huge orange pumpkins were briefly lit by the dying daylight.

"The path seems to go this way." Tim said, gesturing to their left. So they clambered down a steep path, which had a rustic wooden rail. Stairs were built into the hillside at intervals. When they were about halfway down, Tim pointed over at the upper fall.

"Look back there," he said. Behind the falling water was a ledge that looked to be wide enough to stand upon. Nearly at the center an underground stream issued from a dark circle in the cliff and joined its waters with those that cascaded from above.

"Looks like there's a cave back there," Ethan said.

Tim nodded as they continued down the slope. The sunlight that had trickled down into the valley had quickly faded. Only the light from their wands helped the boys pick their way to the bottom.

Here another awe-inspiring sight met their eyes. At the base of the falls the stream resumed its course, turning to the left to head down the valley to the Hudson. Just at the bend it passed under an elaborate metal gate flanked on either side by a massive stone wall, at least ten feet high. At the center of each side of the gate was a large "K."

"I guess we know where the school grounds end now," Tim said. "I've read about these in _Kaaterskill Chronicles_."

"Very impressive," said Ethan as he admired the gates by wand-light. "But wouldn't it make the muggles curious about what's on this side?"

"Oh, they don't see it this way," Tim explained matter-of-factly. "To them it just looks like a broken down stone wall with a rusty, locked wooden gate. Just as when hikers get a glimpse of the school with their binoculars all they see is the burnt-out shell of an old hotel."

Ethan shook his head, impressed. "How do you know all this?" he asked.

"It's all right there in the book," Tim shrugged. "Anyway, the pumpkins should be over there."

He pointed to their left and Ethan saw the clearing they had glimpsed from above, a large patch of open ground hard against the stone wall, covered with vines and hundreds of ripening pumpkins.

"OK, now all we have to do is find a wand in here somewhere," Ethan said. It seemed a hopeless task as the night deepened around them.

But as they entered the patch and cast the dim light from their wands back and forth, lights suddenly flared up to form letters in 3 or 4 rows. The boys stared at a rhyme that seemed to be a continuation of the note Alec had given them.

_We warned that you should not persist_

_but common sense you did resist._

_The mudblood's wand is yours to take,_

_though we maintain it's your mistake._

_The last cucurbit in this row _

_hides the wand and your great woe._

Ethan's eyes turned to a huge pumpkin at the end of the row.

"It must weigh 800 pounds!" Ethan exclaimed. The giant pumpkin nearly matched his height.

"Well, weight shouldn't be a problem for us," Tim said. "But what else is under there?"

"We don't really have a choice," Ethan said.

"Don't we?" Tim asked. "We could just go back and tell Bancroft about this. He and Standish could figure it out."

Ethan knew his friend had a point. But they'd made it this far. He didn't want to return to the school empty-handed. Nothing had happened so far. Perhaps their luck would persist.

"Yeah, but we'd be busted for being out here at night," he pointed out.

"How do you know something worse won't happen if we do it ourselves?" Tim persisted.

"I don't," Ethan admitted. "But we're here and we should get what we came for."

Tim scowled. "OK, Ethan," he said resignedly. "But I have a bad feeling about this."

"You stand back and lift it up," Ethan said. "I'll grab the wand and we'll get out of here."

"It's a shame we haven't learned any retrieving spells yet," Tim said, as he stood back and aimed his wand at the pumpkin.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" he shouted. He maintained his aim and the pumpkin rose, its vines straining as it left the ground. Tim kept the huge gourd rising until it hovered a good five feet in the air.

Nothing untoward happened, so Ethan aimed his lit wand at the ground beneath the pumpkin. There in the damp soil lay a slender cylinder of wood, its glossy finish shining in the dim light.

Ethan quickly grasped Alec's wand and backed away.

"Got it!" he said and he held the wand up for Tim to see. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and stowed Alec's wand in his pocket. Tim carefully lowered the pumpkin back to earth.

As the pumpkin touched ground, it suddenly exploded into hundreds of pieces. Before Ethan and Tim could react, flying chunks of pumpkin struck them, leaving them covered in orange goo. As they watched in shock, the rest of the pumpkins in the row also blew up. The lights that had formed the words of the verse flew into the air and rearranged themselves in the form of a hand with a finger pointed down at the boys.

An instant later, a loud crack sounded behind them. Another moment and Standish the groundskeeper stood before them, a look of disbelief quickly changing to fury on his gnarled face.

"Hooligans! Delinquents!" he shouted. "I'll have you out of here for this, you miscreants! My work ruined, Halloween just around the corner!"

"But...," Ethan started, but Standish exclaimed, "Silence! You can tell your house master. You're that Lloyd boy, aren't you? And you?"

"Van der Meulen, sir," Tim said. He wiped some of the pumpkin off his face and glowered at Ethan.

"Both Bradburys, then?"

The boys nodded, pumpkin debris dripping off them.

"Bancroft will have a fine time with you!" Standish grumbled. "Come on, it's a long walk to school!"

The followed Standish back up the steep path beside the Falls. Halfway up the slope, Standish stopped and stared at the cave under the first fall, which was no longer dark but bathed in a bright glow.

"Never seen anything like that, not in forty years," Standish muttered to himself. To the boys, he said, "Let's go!"

But Ethan's gaze was now fixed on the cave, where he saw not merely a bright glow, but a rowboat moored to the edge of the underground stream and manned by several ghostly sailors. Standing on the bank and staring back at Ethan was a figure Ethan recognized: the spectral form of Jan van Dam.

"Heed my warning before it is too late, Ethan Lloyd," he called out across the gorge. "Leave this place, where terrible deeds have been put in motion!"

"What terrible deeds?" Ethan shouted. "Who has put them in motion?"

"I may not say," Captain van Dam's ghost intoned. "Be not stiff-necked! Flee this place!"

With that the vision of the boat, the sailors and van Dam blinked out. Ethan realized that Tim and the groundskeeper were staring at him.

"You're delirious from that wet mess," Standish said. He pointed his wand at Ethan and said "_Scourgify_!" Instantly most of the orange goo disappeared. He then did the same to Tim. "No sense in getting you sick before they expel you, even if it serves you right. Come on, then!"

As they trudged on, Tim whispered, "What did you see?"

"Nothing," Ethan answered dully. "Standish was right; I must have been delirious."

"You're a bad liar, Ethan," Tim said. "I saw the glow. You saw your ghost pirate again."

"I'll tell you later," Ethan whispered back.

"All right, then," Tim said glumly. "Maybe you'll have time on the train home."

They continued in silence. Soon the warm lights of Kaaterskill beckoned across the fields. Ethan ruefully considered whether they might be entering the school for the last time.

Finally they reached the steps and Standish opened the heavy front door. It did not take the groundskeeper long to find Professor Bancroft. The Bradbury house master was walking past the reception desk, deep in conversation with the headmaster and Professor Tiverton.

The teachers turned and beheld Standish and the two boys, who still had a few strands of orange pumpkin flesh on their clothes. Tiverton arched an eyebrow, Bancroft's face went rather pale and serious, while Cyrus Flyte contemplated the three figures with an air of bemusement.

"What's up, Mr. Standish?" Flyte asked. "Got some new assistants, have you?"

"Not at all, headmaster," Standish replied. "These boys have vandalized the pumpkin patch. Some of my best pumpkins ruined! And so close to Halloween..."

Someone sniggered nearby. Ethan caught a glimpse of Simon Brocklebank's sneering face down the hall. Simon was joined by Katrina Powles, Harding and Van Nort.

Flyte glanced down the hall. He frowned at Tiverton.

The transfiguration teacher followed Flyte's gaze as it returned to Brocklebank and the others.

"You lot!" he said curtly. "Back to the common room! You've no cause to loiter here."

Brocklebank and his friends moved away down the corridor out of sight. Flyte turned to Ethan and Tim.

"Now I presume you have an explanation for Mr. Standish's allegation," he said gravely. "Perhaps you should share it with us."

"Allegations?" Standish burst out. "My pumpkins have been violated!"

Flyte held up a hand.

"Patience, Ebenezer! I wish to hear what the boys have to say for themselves."

"Someone stole Alec Evans' wand," Ethan began.

"Ah, yes," Flyte said cryptically.

"And this relates how?" Tiverton asked skeptically.

"They hid the wand under a pumpkin," Ethan explained, holding out the wand. "When we got it back, the whole row just exploded. Believe me, we didn't mean to damage the pumpkins."

"Rubbish!" Standish growled. "My work's been destroyed. I want them _punished_!"

"I say again, patience!" Flyte said wearily. "We do not yet know whether these boys have done anything malicious or whether they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I suggest that we ask young Mr. Evans to join us. Would you do that, Herodotus? We'll meet you in your office."

Bancroft nodded and headed towards Bradbury Tower. A few minutes later, Ethan, Tim and Alec were seated in front of Bancroft's desk, the old wizard in the portrait above the desk peering at them curiously. The three teachers had arranged themselves behind the desk, while Standish hovered impatiently near the door.

"Mr. Evans, is this your wand?" Bancroft asked, pointing to the wand Ethan had turned in, now on the desktop.

"Yes, that's it!" Alec exclaimed happily. "You got it back, Ethan! I knew you would."

"Can you tell me how it came to be in Mr. Standish's pumpkin patch?" Tiverton queried.

"Well, not exactly," Alec began and the whole story spilled out of him.

"Why did you not tell your house master about this, Mr. Evans?" Flyte asked.

"Well, I didn't really think of that," Alec answered. "I wanted to go get it myself, but Ethan wouldn't let me."

"That was good advice, Mr. Evans," Flyte said.

"Pity Lloyd didn't see fit to follow it himself," Tiverton snorted.

Ethan looked at the floor. "I suppose I should have," he admitted. Looking up at Flyte, he added, "But Professor Bancroft meant me to look after Alec, so I thought I should do it, sir."

"I am aware of that assignment, Mr. Lloyd," Flyte said. "While your intent may have been commendable, your judgment was somewhat lacking. I fear that I must recommend to Professor Bancroft that you and Mr. Van der Meulen each serve detention."

Standish burst out in anger. "Detention! They should be expelled for what they've done to my pumpkins!"

"Ebenezer, they will be punished," Flyte said calmly, holding the groundskeeper in his gaze. "I shall have Professor Crockett assist you with some Rapid-Gro potion. All will be well by Halloween, I am sure."

Flyte turned to dismiss the boys. "Off you all go, then!"

"Thank you, sir!" Alec said gratefully.

"Oh, don't thank me, Mr. Evans," Flyte replied. He gestured toward Ethan and Tim. "Thank these two young men, who certainly are looking out for your interests."

The three boys hurried back to Bradbury Tower. Ethan had just realized how hungry he was; dinner had long since passed. As they entered the common room, his stomach grumbled loudly.

Their reception was rather mixed. The first years were thrilled to discover that the missing wand had been recovered. Ethan thought they would have swept him and Tim up on their shoulders had they been strong enough.

Kenny Sturtevant gave them all severe looks of disapproval. Anne was still miffed they hadn't let her come along, though she grudgingly allowed, "If all you got was detention, I guess you did all right."

Marcus seemed generally bemused by the entire caper.

"Someone needs to turn their switch off," he said, nodding toward the still-chattering first-years.

Tim kept largely silent and headed up to bed after a short time. He was already asleep when Ethan staggered up to bed later. As for Ethan, he fell asleep too, still hungry, wondering how exactly Bancroft would punish them.


	10. Chapter 10: All Hallows Eve

Chapter Ten

All Hallows Eve

Ethan's suspense did not last long. Professor Bancroft found them at breakfast the next morning.

"Mr. Lloyd, your detention will be served with Professor Swope," he said. "Report to him at 8 o'clock Halloween morning to clean paintings. As for you, Mr. Van der Meulen, Seńor Galvez needs someone to clean the locker rooms and the school trophies. You are to report to him at the same time."

"But, Professor, the Pumpkin Hunt," Ethan began. He saw Tim roll his eyes.

"I rather think that your participation in the hunt is unwarranted this year, Mr. Lloyd," Bancroft interjected. "See to it that you both do exactly as you are directed.

"I wouldn't complain, Ethan," Tim said as Bancroft strode back to the faculty table. "After all, they could just as well have sent us home."

Halloween fell on the following Thursday. Classes were always suspended so that the four houses could compete in a hunt for transfigured pumpkins. The sun rose bright and a clear, warm day beckoned the students as they arose on Halloween.

Ethan and Tim ate breakfast with their housemates. An excited buzz filled the Assembly Hall, but as everyone else got ready to go out on the grounds, the burly Galvez and the rumpled Swope waited at the end of the Bradbury table for Ethan and Tim.

As the two of them made their way down the table, a gaggle of first-years passed by. Alec was evidently holding forth on the subject of the hunt. "I heard that last year there was a Sasquatch out there," he said excitedly.

"Come along, then, Mr. Van der Meulen," Galvez said. "You have a full day's work ahead of you. The lockers have needed cleaning for some time. And I'm afraid that our trophies are quite tarnished, too."

"Well, I don't know the last time anyone properly cleaned the museum," Swope added for Ethan's benefit. "Certainly my predecessor didn't. Off we go."

"Did a bit of late night wandering, I hear," Swope said as he stumped upstairs towards the studio, Ethan at his side. "Not the first time you've gone astray now, is it?"

"I suppose not, sir," Ethan answered stiffly. It was bad enough, he thought, missing out on the hunt; having Swope analyze his misdeeds would only make it worse.

"Well, that's not so bad, is it, as long as you don't overdo it," Swope added to Ethan's surprise. "Just be sure you can pay the price if things go awry."

The price, in this case, revolved mainly around dusting frames in the museum. Ethan didn't mind this too much at first, though it was extremely tedious.

"In case you're wondering, you're not allowed to use magic," Swope told him as he handed Ethan a long feather duster and a pair of white gloves. "It would take too long to teach you the proper spells, anyway."

As he brushed dust off the ornate frames, Ethan did have a chance to examine the paintings a bit more closely. He exchanged pleasantries with some of the portraits―several thanked him fervently for cleaning their frames―and he admired the techniques used in the landscapes.

Swope levitated Ethan up to the paintings that rose out of reach all the way to the ceiling. Ethan got the feeling that the paintings at the top hadn't been seen, let alone dusted, for decades. The duster dislodged clumps of dust that drifted down, some landing on another frame, others floating slowly all the way to the floor.

In the very top row, Ethan swept the dust off of a painting of a gray-haired man with deep blue eyes and two boys. The man, who held a forked stick in his right hand, was looking on bemused as the two boys played wizard chess. They were in a circular room with a skylight that bathed the room in a sunny glow. The older boy was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair. The younger one was slight, green-eyed and about Ethan's age. The title on the plaque caught Ethan's eye: "Elwyn Bradbury and his sons."

Unlike some of the other subjects in the Museum, this trio paid no attention to Ethan, even when he called down to Swope.

"Professor, I didn't know that Bradbury had children." The man in the portrait looked at Ethan curiously but said nothing.

"He didn't," Swipe answered. "At least not his own. He did take in a pair of orphans, though. Brought them up as his own."

"Hmmm," Ethan mused as Swope floated him down to the next row. "What happened to them?"

"Became teachers, both of them," Swope said. "Not too surprising. The older one followed his father as headmaster."

The windows of the museum were open. Occasionally the autumn breeze blew in stray sounds of the pumpkin hunt: shouts of discovery, cheers as each house added to their pumpkin total. Time passed slowly for Ethan. There seemed to be an endless supply of dusty paintings.

Eventually, the sun set, the hunt ended and everyone else headed in to the Assembly Hall for the feast. At last Ethan's feet returned to the ground. His arms and shoulders ached and his head swam, overloaded by the imagery of the painting collection.

"One more level and you'll be done, Mr. Lloyd," Swope told him. "You can do these without my help. I need to attend to some paperwork."

With that, the art professor returned to the studio and left Ethan to his dusting. Ethan was too tired to really register the subjects of most of the remaining paintings. But when he reached the painting of the Phantom Ship, he couldn't stop himself from examining it closely. The painted image looked just like the apparition Ethan had seen out on the Hudson, the ship engulfed in flames. As he gazed at the painting, Ethan even thought he could make out the weird cries of the crew as they carried on the breeze. He wondered whether the painting's creator had really been cursed by the sight of the haunted vessel.

Swope stumped back in and broke Ethan's reverie.

"Still looking at the Phantom Ship, eh?" the painter asked. "S'pose I would too, if I were you. Still don't obsess on it, Mr. Lloyd. Whatever happened to the artist―and I'm not saying anything untoward happened, mind―has nothing to do with you. Anyway, your work seems to be done, so run along. You might yet make dessert."

Ethan hurried out of the studio, for Swope had reminded him how hungry he really was. He had barely started down the corridor when Tim and Anne came up behind him.

"Thought we might catch you up here," Tim said breathlessly.

"How were the lockers?" Ethan asked. Without waiting for Tim's answer, he added to Anne, "Shouldn't you be at the feast?"

"I thought I'd better see how you two were bearing up," she answered. "Besides, I've no desire to see the Prophets gloating over another trophy. They won by 50 pumpkins this year."

"As long as I don't have to polish their trophy, I don't care," Tim interjected. He stretched his right arm tentatively. "I've already polished every Quidditch trophy for the last century, not to mention the Kaaterskill Trophy, an antique Quodpot award and all the special trophies ever awarded. My elbows remember each one."

"Well, should we swallow our pride and try to get some dessert?" Ethan asked, his stomach rumbling.

"Might as well," Tim allowed, and off they went down towards the Assembly Hall. They hurried down the stairs from the upper floors, which were silent except for the occasional complaint from Ethan's stomach. After a particularly loud rumble, Ethan suddenly heard a low raspy voice, seemingly nearby. He stopped where he stood. The others were a few steps ahead of him.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What was what?" Tim asked, looking up quizzically.

Ethan didn't answer, for the voice had returned. This time he could make out the words, although they seemed growled more than spoken.

"_I will take you, freeze you, steal and devour you_."

He looked around wildly for the source of the voice, but it had faded away.

"That voice," Ethan said, still looking around distractedly. "It's going to attack someone."

"What voice?" Anne asked. "I didn't hear anything."

"Don't tell us you're now hearing things we can't, too," Tim added.

For a moment, Ethan considered whether he had imagined what he'd heard. He dismissed the idea.

"I heard something, a voice...threatening. I know I did," he began. Then he caught a glimpse of something moving across the floor at the foot of the stairs. "Hey, what's that?"

Tim and Anne turned to look down the stairs. They all moved closer and Ethan saw a procession of tiny toads moving across the hallway, leaping up to an open window, then jumping away from the building.

"Have you ever seen toads behave that way?" Ethan asked, looking on curiously.

"No. I wonder where they came from," Tim said. "They're too small to belong to students. Besides, only a few kids even bring toads―too old-fashioned, they say. What do you think, Anne? ...Anne?"

There was no answer. The boys turned and saw Anne edging back from the toads, twirling her orange braids nervously.

"I don't like toads," she said, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Nasty, slimy creatures."

"Anne, they're tiny," Ethan said. "Just step over them."

Anne took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and leapt over the advancing toads. Ethan had to stifle a laugh at Anne's apparent fear of the little creatures. He dared not look at Tim, who'd just made a throat-clearing noise that might have masked a giggle.

Still, Ethan did find the toads' exodus very odd. They hurried down the hall now, turning into the corridor that led to the final stairway down to the main level and the Assembly Hall. Visions of dessert spurred them on.

Tim was in front and he suddenly halted and held out his arms to stop the others. "I think there's a teacher up there," he whispered.

They slipped behind a statue of a witch whose name was Cordelia, according to the large plaque on her pedestal.

As they huddled there, Ethan cautiously looked around the statue. He could indeed see the figure of a man just ahead of them, blocking their path at the head of the stairs. He seemed to be holding something large and shiny in his arms.

"Now what?" Anne asked.

"We could just go back to the Tower and forget about the feast," Tim suggested unconvincingly.

Ethan's stomach rumbled. He really didn't want to forego dinner if he could help it. As he thought about his hunger pangs, he looked again at the standing figure and realized there was something strange about the way it moved.

Or rather, the way it didn't move. Whoever it was, the person was standing completely still, not looking about, not walking, not moving at all. It was hard to tell whether he was even breathing.

"There's something not right about that," Ethan whispered to the others. "He's like a statue. Let's go see."

Anne and Tim shared a doubtful look, but followed Ethan as he moved out of their hiding place and down the hall.

The figure remained totally still, paying no attention to the approaching students.

Ethan strode right up to the figure and looked at it.

"It's Standish!" he said. "But what's happened to him?"

The gnome-like groundskeeper stood facing the opposite end of the hall, just a few feet away from the main stairway down to the first floor. In his arms, he held a large glass pumpkin on a pedestal. He had a curious look in his eyes; fear or surprise, Ethan wasn't sure which.

Standish seemed completely frozen. Further, his outline seemed slightly fuzzy, almost as if he were a hologram projected in their midst.

"He isn't...dead, is he?" Anne asked fearfully.

"I don't think so," Ethan answered. "You can't stay on your feet after you die, can you? What's he doing with the Hunt Trophy? That should be in the Assembly Hall."

"I don't know," Tim replied. "But I don't think we should stick around to find out. Come on, let's go back to the dorm!"

As they turned to go, Anne suddenly lost her balance. Ethan reached out to her and as she grasped his hand, he too began to slip. After he managed to pull her back up, they all realized that a shallow slick of water covered the floor around Standish. Smaller puddles ran down the hallway away from them.

As they stepped back from the water, Anne gasped and pointed at the wall behind Standish. There they saw, in glowing green letters, this message: "_Let those who have ears, hear. The Cleansing has begun._"

"Come on, let's go!" Tim urged.

They started off, but it was too late. At that moment, a crowd of students streamed out of the Assembly Hall and many headed up the stairs. The Halloween Feast had ended.

Dozens of students crowded up the stairs, chattering and laughing. Ethan caught a glimpse of Edwin Malinowski and Bram Rozema in the first wave. It was only a moment before someone took in the still form of Standish, the glass trophy in his arms and the glowing message behind him and shouted, "What's wrong with him?" Immediately the stairway was filled with a cacophony of gasps, shouts and cries. The crowd flowed up the stairs and down the corridor in both directions, trapping Ethan, Anne and Tim next to the groundskeeper.

"Let me through!" Ethan heard Brocklebank's irritating drawl from the stairs. Simon emerged from the crowd, Katrina Powles at his side, Harding and Van Nort just behind. They looked from Standish to the message on the wall and then to the three Bradburys.

"_The Cleansing has begun_ ," Katrina read aloud.

"And about time!" Brocklebank exclaimed. "Mudbloods, beware!"

Just then, Cyrus Flyte pushed his way to the top of the stairs. Just behind him were Bancroft, Tiverton and Swope.

"Well, what have we here?" Flyte said under his breath as he appraised the scene.

"Ask them," Katrina Powles piped up. "They were here."

A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd. Ethan noticed an odd look pass over Brocklebank's face, a strange combination of satisfaction and confusion. But when Ethan met the eyes of Edwin and Bram, they looked away nervously.

"A sensible suggestion, Miss Powles," Flyte replied calmly. "We shall make all appropriate inquiries. Now, will the proctors please escort their houses back to the commons rooms?"

The proctors immediately went to work gathering their housemates out of the crowd. Ethan saw Kenny and Jimmy just to his left. But as he started in that direction, Flyte said, "No, Mr. Lloyd, you stay here. Miss Findlay and Mr. Van der Meulen, too, please."

Four knots of students gradually moved away down the corridors, the din of their chatter fading away as they went.

Silence returned. The three students watched Flyte and the others as they observed Standish's body, rigid, unmoving yet flickering oddly.

Flyte examined the groundskeeper carefully, touching his arm and holding a hand before his nose.

"Mr. Standish is not dead," he said grimly. "He has been time-frozen. But as to how this could have happened, I cannot say--for the present."

Just then, Nurse Abernathy joined them, out of breath and pale as she reached the top of the stairs. Behind her came Beadle, who gazed at the motionless groundskeeper and then shot a sharp look at Ethan and his friends.

Beadle frequently worked with Standish and Ethan reflected that the custodian may have been one of Standish's few real friends.

Turning to the nurse, Flyte said, "Priscilla, will you and Mr. Beadle...ahem, escort Mr. Standish to the infirmary, please? I will be along presently."

Abernathy nodded. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a stretcher. She and Beadle picked the unfortunate man up and laid him on the stretcher. The nurse then levitated the stretcher off toward the infirmary, Beadle in her wake.

Flyte then turned to Bancroft.

"Herodotus, may we borrow your office? It is the closest."

"Certainly, Headmaster," the history professor replied.

"You three, please come along," Flyte said to the students, as Bancroft led them down the hall to his office. As they went, Ethan saw that the large puddle a the top of the stairs was but the largest of a trail of water.

"Curious," Ethan heard Flyte murmur to himself as they passed what proved to be the last of the puddles, which was in front of a door next to the stairway that led to the History classroom and Bancroft's office.

Ethan' mind was racing over everything that had occurred on this extremely odd day, but he did note both the water and the Headmaster's reaction to it.

When they reached the office, Bancroft offered Flyte his chair, but the headmaster waved dismissively and said, "I think I shall stand. But by all means, the rest of you, do have a seat."

Bancroft had to conjure a few extra chairs in order to seat Swope, Tiverton and the three students.

Flyte stood by the door, apparently lost in thought for a long moment, face framed by his shock of white hair, beak-like nose pointed towards the floor.

"Well," he said at last, addressing the teachers. "We must get to the bottom of this matter. What do you think, gentlemen?"

"You say Standish is time-frozen," Bancroft said. "But how could that happen? There are few known ways to induce such a state and each..."

"Is unlikely in the extreme, yes I know, Herodotus," Flyte said gravely. "Yet this is what has happened, by one means or another."

"If I may, Headmaster," Tiverton interjected. "Perhaps we should ask these students. At the very least, they were the first on the scene. As you may recall, Lloyd and Van der Meulen had a dispute recently with Mr. Standish."

"We never touched Standish!" Ethan burst out. "We were just getting back from detention and we found him there."

Swope cleared his throat. "That much is true, Cyrus," the art teacher said. "I'd dismissed Lloyd and sent him down to the Assembly Hall just before I headed down myself."

"Ah, in that case, why didn't he arrive at the feast before you did, Uriel?" Tiverton added. "In any case, I don't seem to recall that Miss Findlay had any detention. Why was she not at the feast?"

"Well, I'd gone to see if I could find the two of them and get them to the Assembly Hall in time for dessert," Anne said. "I probably slowed them down a bit in the end."

"If you're suggesting these three had anything to with Standish being frozen, you're not as sharp as your reputation suggests, Terence," Swope muttered.

"Of course they wouldn't be capable of producing this effect themselves," Tiverton replied. "Which does not place their actions this evening above suspicion. Lloyd in particular has a penchant for dabbling in magic far beyond his abilities."

The old wizard in the portrait over Bancroft's desk cleared his throat loudly and Ethan saw him glare at Tiverton.

"At this stage, no one is above suspicion," Flyte said. "But these students are unlikely to be involved. They are very lucky not to have arrived on the scene earlier."

"Excuse me, sir," Tim spoke up. "What do those words mean? '_Let those who have ears, hear. The Cleansing has begun_.'?"

The other teachers exchanged ominous glances, then looked at Flyte.

"Whatever the exact reference," the headmaster sighed. "It means that Kaaterskill is no longer a safe place. Now, it so happens that Professor Crockett has obtained a supply of young Singing Barberry, so we should, in due time, be able to reverse the effect on Mr. Standish."

There was a pause. Then Flyte said to the students, "You may go now―by the straightest route―back to your common room."

"Yes, sir!" all three said at once. They hurried back up to Bradbury Tower, eager to be out of Tiverton's baleful eye and full of questions.

"He didn't explain those words at all," Anne said as they went through the hidden panel.

"I seem to remember something about a call for "cleansing" Kaaterskill, sometime after Bradbury left," Tim said. "Must have been in _Kaaterskill Chronicles_."

"Makes no sense to me," Ethan added. "'Those who have ears, here.' Sounds like a warning, but of what?"

They were silent for a bit. As they reached the Disconcerting Stair, Ethan suddenly asked, "Do you think I should have told them about Van Dam's ghost?"

"No!" said Anne with surprising vehemence. "It's not good to see things no one else can, even in the wizarding world."

When he and Tim had climbed the stairs to their dormitory, Ethan lay awake a long time in his four-poster pondering those words.


	11. Chapter 11: Mysteries Past and Present

Chapter Eleven

Mysteries Past and Present

The attack on Standish was the chief topic of conversation in the Bradbury common room that Halloween night and for days afterward. Few students knew the groundskeeper well, but many were unnerved that the attack had taken place in the heart of the school.

Outside Bradbury, there were some suspicious murmurs about Ethan's―and to a lesser extent Tim's and Anne's―presence at the scene of the crime.

One afternoon, the second-years sat in the library finishing an essay for Bancroft on the development of magical regulation on the western frontier in the 1870s.

"I still need 2 ½ inches!" Anne grumbled in frustration as she bent over her parchment. "Where's Tim?"

"Over there somewhere," Ethan said, gesturing vaguely towards the stacks.

"Does he mean to read every book in the library this term?" Anne asked. "Seriously. I know he loves reading, but it seems he's living in the stacks now!"

Just then, Tim emerged from a nearby row of books, a disgruntled look on his face.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.

"What's wrong, can't find Lockhart's _Traveling with Trolls_?" Marcus asked drolly.

"What?" Tim asked, momentarily confused by Marcus' deadpan. "No, every copy of _Kaaterskill Chronicles_ is out. I never bought my own this summer, since there are a couple dozen right here."

"Why are you looking for that when you could be letting me read over your History essay?" Anne asked.

"The same reason everyone else is looking for it," Tim said impatiently. "That's where the story of the so-called Cleansing of Kaaterskill appears. It sounded familiar, but I can't remember the details."

"Well, since you can't find it now, how about handing over your essay?" Anne persisted.

"You'll never learn it that way," Tim said reprovingly, but he turned his parchment over to Anne anyway.

"Thanks, I owe you one," she answered, ignoring the admonition and dipping her quill into the inkwell.

With a minute to spare, Anne managed to fill the requisite 3 feet of parchment with scribblings that she hoped wouldn't sound identical to Tim's essay, which contrasted the rough-and-tumble magical law of the American West with the stricter regulation found north of the border.

"Come on, then, time we got to class," Tim said impatiently as Anne rolled her scroll up hurriedly.

As they navigated the hallways down to Bancroft's classroom, Ethan caught sight of Bram Rozema, Edwin's friend who'd worked with them in herbology. Ethan smiled and raised his had to wave, only to see Bram abruptly turn and hurry back down the corridor.

"That's odd," Ethan said aloud. "What's the matter with him?"

"Dunno," Anne said. "Seems a little bit stuck up, if you ask me. I wouldn't take it personally."

History of Magic was one of Ethan's favorite classes. Tim didn't completely share his friend's enthusiasm, but he worked hard and did well. Anne had little use for the past, even though she admitted Bancroft could tell stories better than any of their other teachers.

When they arrived in class, Ethan made to slide into their usual row, about halfway back on the left side. As he did so, he felt Tim tug his sleeve and point to the front row.

"Why sit in front?" Ethan whispered and Anne added, "Yeah, why?"

"You'll see," Tim said and the others reluctantly joined him there.

Bancroft's habit was to open class with a bit of lecture before asking for the students to discuss the day's reading. On this day, he introduced their next study unit, the separate spheres of witches and wizards in Victorian America. Anne rolled her eyes as Bancroft described the "reform" movements that proclaimed that a witch's place was in the home. Even Ethan found this topic less than scintillating.

So when Bancroft finished his talk and asked "Now, let's hear your thoughts? What set the reformers apart from the mainstream of wizarding society?" no one responded immediately. Indeed, Edwin Malinowski was staring out the window and Melissa Murthin―usually one of Bancroft's biggest fans―looked up guiltily from doodling on a spare bit of parchment.

Bancroft walked to the side of his desk, burgundy robes swishing as he went and frowned as he surveyed the class.

"Come now, someone must have an opinion on the reading! Do you all agree with the premise that the natural order dictates that witches should stay home and tend children while wizards go out and make a living?" he asked. "I assume you _have_ done the readings?"

A certain amount of nervous shuffling of feet, rustling of notes, and clearing of throats ensued. At last, a hand went up―Tim's.

Bancroft's face brightened. "Ah, Mr. Van der Meulen, would you start us off then?"

"Well, sir, I could," Tim began. "But actually I was wondering if you could tell us about the Cleansing of Kaaterskill?"

Bancroft looked at Tim silently for a moment. Uncharacteristically, he stuttered, "What?...well, that is hardly a matter for...then again, it does have some basis in history."

All eyes had snapped to the front of the room when Tim had mentioned The Cleansing.

"Please, sir?" Tim asked, looking Bancroft in the eye.

"Very well!" Bancroft said. "To tell the story properly, I must take you back to the very beginnings of Kaaterskill Academy in the 1770s."

"As you all know, Kaaterskill was founded during the American Revolution by Elwyn Bradbury. Bradbury himself had attended Hogwarts as a youth before coming to America about the year 1700, not many years after the Statute of Secrecy took effect."

"Bradbury was a skilled wizard, but above all he was a rhabdomancer. He wandered about the colonies, never staying long in one place, offering his divination skills to those who needed them, and becoming acquainted with all magical folk, whether of European, African or American origin. He also became well aware of the most of the powerful magical places along the east coast and this is how he came to select this location for Kaaterskill Academy."

"Here, atop the mountain escarpment overlooking the Hudson, was a spot that had been sacred to the shamans of the Iroquois for centuries. Where The Landing stands today, the Native Americans had built their village. From there they guarded this magical spot. But over a century before Bradbury raised the school here, Europeans destroyed the village and massacred the inhabitants, and I am afraid that history tells us that the leaders of that raid were magic folk. In any case, by the time of the Revolution, Bradbury found the area uninhabited, although his dowsing rod indicated that this was the most powerful magical site along the entire east coast."

"At first the school was small. Bradbury had been a member of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts, but he saw no need for separate houses at his new school. Indeed he disliked the Hogwarts house system, which he felt tended to force students to conform with the stereotypical values of the four houses there."

"But Kaaterskill grew quickly in the years after the Revolution. Witches and wizards continued to emigrate from Europe, pushing westward. They sent their children to Bradbury's school. But Bradbury sought out all those with magical aptitude, regardless of their parentage or homeland. Muggle-born witches and wizards he welcomed to Kaaterskill. He travelled far and wide, making sure that the magically-endowed children of African and Native American parents knew they had a place here on the mountain top."

"So it was that Kaaterskill had become a bustling, exciting place within 25 years of its founding. But by then Bradbury was old and weary. He knew he had not many years left to give the school and so he began to make provisions for its future. One day, after long consideration, he called together those teachers he valued most highly. In number, there were four: Cordelia Cadwallader, a young witch who had been in the very first class at Kaaterskill and a most gifted professor of charms; Prince Vesey, born in the Carolinas of a lineage that stretched back to the ancient kingdom of Benin, perhaps the greatest practitioner of transfiguration this continent has known; and two brothers, Hrothgar and Percival."

"Now these two brothers were like children to Elwyn Bradbury. For they had been orphaned at a very young age when their parents' ship sank in the Hudson. They were rescued and brought to Bradbury by the proprietor of the inn at The Landing. Nothing was known of their parents in these parts, not even their names, and there were no other survivors of the wreck. The elder of the two children was about three years old. He was able to give his name--Hrothgar-- and from him Bradbury learned that the younger boy (who was no more than two years old) was called Percival. Now Bradbury had never married, but he resolved to raise the orphans here at Kaaterskill, which had been founded just a few years earlier. He perceived at once that both boys were wizards, although he apparently never learned their ancestry."

"So Hrothgar and Percival grew up at Kaaterskill and when they reached school age they became students. Percival excelled at potions, herbology and the care of magical creatures, while his elder brother concentrated on divination, charms and defense against the dark arts. While Bradbury loved both boys and knew both to be talented young wizards, he came to believe that Hrothgar had the greatest potential of any wizard or witch he had ever taught."

"The two boys looked very much alike, both growing up with blonde hair, fair complexions and broad shoulders. When young they were constantly in each other's company. Both excelled at flying and quidditch, Percival as a Seeker and Hrothgar as a Chaser, and each had their own circle of followers among their fellow students at Kaaterskill. Percival's friends loved him for his courage and his kindness, while Hrothgar's companions valued his bold ambition and feared his anger. As they grew up, they spent less time with each other, though each always retained a great respect for the other's abilities."

"When they finished their studies at Kaaterskill, they took different paths initially. Percival immediately moved from student to teacher, taking on the post of Potions professor which was vacant. Within a few years he also took on Herbology."

"But Hrothgar felt he need to see the world to discover the best scope for his talents. He travelled throughout North America and even to Europe, meeting many of the most eminent wizards and witches of the day. When Hrothgar had been absent several years, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts opened at Kaaterskill. Elwyn Bradbury had only one choice for the job and Hrothgar was lured back to teach at the school his younger brother had never left."

"Both excelled in their subjects though Bradbury had to restrain each of them. He denied Percival's request to add Care of Magical Creatures to his other two subjects, when the incumbent in that field took a lengthy tour of Africa. And he refused to allow Hrothgar to teach actual dark magic to the more advanced students. Hrothgar argued that this was necessary in order to properly teach defence against the dark arts, but Bradbury felt that such spells and curses would be dangerous in the hands of impressionable young witches and wizards."

"Nevertheless, the two brothers worked harmoniously enough under Bradbury to gain his complete trust, which Professors Cadwallader and Vesey had already earned. And to these four Bradbury imparted his plans. He told them first that he would be leaving them at the end of the school year. He asked them to work together to maintain the school's principles and ensure that all young witches and wizards in North America be welcomed them. And finally he asked Hrothgar to succeed him as headmaster. To this Hrothgar consented and the others agreed to follow him. In truth, Professor Vesey was secretly disappointed that the founder had not asked him to take on the post and Cadwallader felt that Percival would have suited the school better. But Percival himself was happy enough with the choice. He far preferred his work with potions and magical plants to school administration."

"The only other concern that Bradbury voiced concerned the size of the student body, which had grown too unwieldy to be run as one unit. He asked each of these four teachers to head a house. Having seen the divisions brought on by the house system at Hogwarts, he urged them all to choose their students based on a variety of qualities and to name them after exemplary wizards of the Americas. He told them that before he left the school he would provide a means for them to assign students to the houses.'

"Now there was no Board at the time, so Bradbury's word was sufficient to ensure Hrothgar's acceptance as Headmaster. The decision was announced at the Closing Feast; all were stunned to hear that the founder was stepping down, yet no one could think of a finer successor than Hrothgar."

"After the students had left for the summer, Bradbury organized his papers, bid the faculty and staff farewell, and strode off into the Woods accompanied only by the four he had chosen as house masters. To the spot known as Wizard's Rock he led them. There, where he had often gone to consider weighty decisions, he bade farewell to his most trusted teachers. Finally he took the the gnarled old wooden rod he'd carried with him and held it out."

"Take hold, each of you," he instructed them. "With this rod I dowsed the site for Kaaterskill many years ago. I leave it to the four of you. When you have chosen what the houses shall be, each of you must again take hold of the dowsing rod; from that time on, the rod will assign students to their proper house. Go well, all of you."

"With that he let go of the dowsing rod and disappeared. As to whether he had simply disapparated or whether there was some other cause for his vanishment, his successors were never certain. Wherever the truth lay, Elwyn Bradbury was never seen again by witch or wizard in these lands."

"Over that summer, Hrothgar planned his administration of Kaaterskill and the four houses were established. Professor Cadwallader chose Katherine Harrison, a gifted witch who had been persecuted in the Connecticut colony as the namesake of her house. She decided to seek the attributes of superior intelligence and loyalty in her students and made the wolf the symbol of Harrison House. Professor Vesey honored the West Indian sorceress Tituba in naming his house; in his students he desired the capacity for wisdom and compassion, and he chose the otter as the house symbol. Hrothgar named his house after Tenskwatawa, the great shaman of the Shawnee, and sought students of vision and ambition. The lizard, able to see the future, he made the house symbol. Percival was the last to create a house and honored his stepfather by naming it Bradbury. He aimed to select students of courage and independence, and he chose the mountain lion as their symbol."

"Now you may wonder, as some did at the time, whether Percival had slyly named the house after himself as well, but in fact he (and Hrothgar) never used Bradbury's surname. All the while they lived at Kaaterskill they had done without a last name, hoping they would one day learn their parents' identities."

"Fall came and with it came another school year. And for the first time the dowsing rod divided the student body into the houses, both old hands and newcomers. And for a number of years, all went well. Hrothgar did gain a reputation as a stricter head than Bradbury. He also began, year by year, to include more dark magic in his own classes and finally this led to the first great conflict in the school's history."

"The year was 1812 and once again the American muggles found themselves at war with Great Britain. As a rule, wizards and witches on both sides of the Atlantic found the war a senseless waste of lives and time, but paid as little attention as possible."

"Hrothgar, however, felt that the magical community should intervene to end the conflict. While this might have seemed a noble aim, his proposed means were not innocuous. He suggested that the leaders on both sides be subjected to the _Imperius_ curse. Neither his brother Percival, to whom he first revealed his proposal, nor the other masters, nor indeed the Department of Magic would countenance the use of Unforgiveable curses on muggles, even for a seemingly benevolent purpose. In addition, there was the International Statute of Secrecy to consider, although Hrothgar was confident he could accomplish his purpose without arousing any suspicions in the muggle population."

"Hrothgar had never been one to take rejection meekly. In secret, he trained a number of the older students of his house in the _Imperius_ curse and, as it developed, the other Unforgiveable curses as well. After over a year of preparation, Hrothgar was ready to secretly deploy these students to stop the British army then bearing down on Washington and Baltimore. As they prepared their departure, one of their number―a muggle-born, as it happened―had second thoughts and informed the Department of Magic. For the only time in its history, Kaaterskill was raided by Aurors. Hrothgar and his followers were tried for conspiracy and Hrothgar for dereliction of his duty as Headmaster, right here in the Assembly Hall. As he sat before the Magistrates day after day, Hrothgar grew bitter at what he viewed as the betrayal of that muggle-born student. He told his brother that Bradbury had erred in opening the school to the children of muggles."

"Then, on the eve of an almost certain conviction, Hrothgar vanished as completely as his adopted father had a dozen years earlier. Some suspected that Percival, though he had opposed Hrothgar's plan vigorously, had assisted in his brother's escape. In the end, Percival also left Kaaterskill and went out into the world, never to return."

"Hrothgar left behind a legend based on his last words to Percival: "I will see Kaaterskill cleansed of this muggle filth!" Over the years, that assertion was transmogrified until the more gullible students believed that Hrothgar had hidden some sort of monster that would, when activated by the right person, eliminate muggle-borns from the school.""

The class had listened with rapt attention. As Bancroft paused, Tim raised his hand again.

"Yes, Mr. Van der Meulen?" the professor said, a trace of impatience in his voice now.

"Did he really do that, sir?" Tim asked.

"There is no credible evidence of which I am aware," Bancroft replied.

"But you're not sure?" Ethan chimed in.

"Mr. Lloyd, I am a historian," Bancroft said testily. "As are you whilst you are in my class. As such, we must evaluate the evidence and for this hypothesis, there is none."

"But couldn't Hrothgar have hidden the evidence?" Edwin asked.

"That would be pure speculation, Mr. Malinowski," said Bancroft. "Now, as we are straying far from our topic and from history, I think it's high time we leave this discussion."

And they spent the remainder of class talking about the Society for the Domesticity of Witches and the Magical Mothers' League and their attempts to unseat Gerda Oakley, Secretary of Magic and one of America's finest duellists of the 1880s.

"I knew there was something creepy about Tenskwatawa House," Anne said as they made their way back to Bradbury Tower after class. "I mean creepier than just Brocklebank. Hrothgar sounds like just the sort who'd go around freezing people he disagreed with."

"Yeah," Tim said. "And as he was brilliant, he could probably do it. I wonder where they really came from?"

"It's too bad Percival had to leave too," Anne added. "He seemed decent enough. Not like his brother."

"Well, Percival started Bradbury, so that makes him OK in my book," Tim said. "I'm thinking that I'd have just gone home if the dowsing rod had put me in Tenskwatawa."

Ethan nodded, but he felt a bit queasy at this turn of the conversation. He'd never told anyone that the dowsing rod had considered assigning him to the Prophet's house. _And if Simon Brocklebank hadn't acted like a prig on the steamboat to school that day, _Ethan thought, _ I would never have known to object_.

A call of "Hi, Ethan!" recalled him to the present. The first-years were passing on their way down to dinner. He met Alec Evans' eyes.

"Hello, Alec," Ethan said. "See you at dinner."

"Ethan, I've got to ask you something," Alec said. "Someone in Transfiguration was saying that you..."

But Ethan never heard what was said about him in first-year Transfiguration, for Alec was borne away down the hall by the crowd.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Anne asked.

"Probably just someone who thinks I'm carrying out Hrothgar's Cleansing," Ethan said glumly, thinking of Bram Rozema's reaction to his greeting earlier.

"You know, I'm beginning to think people around here can't think for themselves," Tim said in disgust.

"But do you think what Bancroft said is true?" Anne asked Tim. "I mean that last bit, about the Cleansing?"

"Well, I don't know," Tim said in a measured tone. "I mean, it sounds far-fetched, but so are a lot of things that have happened around here. And the fact that Flyte couldn't do anything to help Standish...well, that makes me think it's something serious."

By the time the three of them reached Bradbury Tower and stowed their book bags, most everyone else had left for dinner already. Hurrying back down to the Assembly Hall, they found themselves in the same spot where they'd seen the toads leaping out into the courtyard. Anne looked about nervously. Ethan remembered the strange voice―definitely not Van Dam's, he reflected―that had alarmed him on this stair.

"Well, come on," Tim said impatiently to the others as he waited further up the hall. "Looks like all that water's gone, anyway."

Ethan hurried to catch up with Tim, Anne beside him.

"Yeah, I wonder where it came from," Ethan said.

"That _was_ odd," Anne added. All three of them looked about, fascinated in spite of themselves by the scene of the attack on Standish.

"Well, I can tell you where it stopped," Ethan remarked as he moved further down the hall, past the stairs to the main floor. "Right by this door. Wonder what's in here?"

He grasped the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. Tim looked at the door, took his wand from his pocket, casually flicked it at the door and said "_Alohamora!_"

Nothing happened. Tim frowned. "That should have worked. At least I'm sure I did it right."

"Must be a stronger locking spell," Anne surmised. "Wonder what's so important behind that door?"

Just then, Kenny Sturtevant and Jimmy Sprague came down the nearby stairs. Kenny took one look at them and said sharply, "What are you three doing down here? Don't you realize how this looks?"

"We're just investigating, Kenny," Ethan said. "Thought we might find some clues."

Jimmy looked on, bemused. "Well, I doubt you'd find any in the proctors' washroom anyway," he said. "It's been broken since school started. I wish they'd fix it!"

"In any case," Kenny interjected. "I'd advise you not to do any more investigating. People will get even more suspicious than they already are."

"The first-years are already in an uproar over it," Jimmy observed in an aggrieved tone. "I should know, they're my charges."

"All right, we'll leave it alone," Ethan said, though the proctors' admonition merely reinforced his desire to learn more.

"See that you do," Kenny said tersely. "If I find you skulking about, I'll take points from Bradbury, yes, my own house, Van der Meulen."

So they finished their trip to the Assembly Hall in silence and they did not speak of Standish or the Cleansing during dinner. That evening in the common room, they sat as far away from Kenny, Jimmy and the first-years as they could. Marcus Gibson joined them.

"Kenny was pretty harsh, don't you think?" Anne asked.

"He probably didn't want Jimmy to think he was going easy on us," Tim opined. "After all, he helped us out quite a bit last year, but he does like to set an example."

"I wonder," Anne mused. "I've heard talk he might be Head Boy next year. Maybe he just doesn't want us to mess it up for him."

"He wouldn't worry about stuff like that," Ethan demurred, though privately he wondered. "He'd just like us to keep our noses clean."

"Well, Jimmy's right about one thing," Marcus said. "The first-years are buzzing even more than usual. Tally's really upset. You'd think Standish was her favorite uncle."

Tim laid down his quill, abandoning the pretense that he was drafting his Charms essay.

"Well, if Hrothgar left the Cleansing for some follower or heir or whatever, who could it be?" he asked.

Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but Anne cut him off.

"I know what you're going to say," she said. "Brocklebank isn't capable of it. Besides, you saw his reaction that night."

"He seemed pretty pleased," Ethan pointed out.

"Yeah, but surprised, too," Anne added. "He's not bright enough to fake it."

Stubbornly, Ethan said, "Well, Hrothgar founded Tenskwatawa House, so I'd look there first, anyway."

"I wonder," Marcus said, half to himself. "You don't suppose?"

"What?" Ethan asked.

"Well, I've been thinking lately....Brocklebank's foul, all right, but he's a foul fool," Marcus said. He scanned the room to see who was close enough to hear, then whispered. "If there are any evil geniuses in the Prophet's house, I'd put my money on Peter's darling sister."

The others took this in for a moment. Then Ethan nodded and said, "You might be onto something, Marcus. And it doesn't mean that Brocklebank's not involved. She could probably do the planning and convince him it was his own idea."

Anne still looked skeptical. "If Katrina was the heir of Hrothgar, wouldn't that make Peter an heir, too?"

"Bancroft didn't say anything about an heir," Ethan recalled. "He just said 'the right person,' some sort of chosen one. Maybe Hrothgar left some sort of sensor in his house that can detect the right person."

"There must be some way to find out," Marcus said hopefully. "If we could just hear what they say when they're in _their_ common room."

"We'll never be able to do that," Ethan said flatly. "Even the amulet won't get us the Prophets' password."

"There's sure to be some way," Tim said thoughtfully. "We should check the library. We can look up that artist of yours at the same time, Ethan."

That Friday after dinner, Tim, Anne and Ethan trooped into the library after dinner.

"I love it in here on Friday nights," Tim told them. "Almost nobody's here, it's a great time to get things done."

Miss Ney, the librarian, was a middle-aged woman with graying hair parted in the middle and tied in a tight bun in back. As the three students entered her domain, she looked at them with her usual expression: prim, proper and perpetually on the verge of outrage.

As they found a table on which to spread out their notes and parchments, she spoke to Tim in a tone that was nearly approving. "Well, I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten your work ethic, Mr. Van der Meulen. Perhaps it will rub off on your classmates."

"Yes, ma'am," Tim said quietly. He sat down and rolled out a parchment that was already quite full of his flowing hand. Ethan pulled a textbook and a bit of blank parchment from his bag. Anne made no pretense of doing homework.

"All right, we're here," she whispered. "Let's look for Van Tassel first!"

"Oh, all right," Tim said reluctantly. He pointed to the stacks on the other end of the reading room. "Local history's down there, next to Special Collections."

The books in the Local History section were dustier and more unkempt than most others in the Library.

"They put these here on purpose," Anne said as she blew dust off one volume. "The books no one wants to read are right next to the ones they won't let anyone read."

Ethan chuckled as he read off the titles on the shelf before him. _"Genealogical Register of Magical Settlement: Hudson Valley,Chronicle of The Landing, 1800-1861_, _Early Institutions of the West Shore_, _Magical Gazetteer of Ulster County_.--You're right. No one would want to read these."

"That genealogy book might help," Tim said reprovingly, sliding it off the shelf carefully.

"How about this?" Anne asked. "_Artists' Haunts and Haunted Artists of the Hudson Valley_?"

"Yeah, get that one down," Ethan told her. When Anne set the thick book down on their table, a layer of dust flew up and she sneezed loudly. Tim opened the cover carefully. The table of contents was geographically arranged from south to north, beginning with Spuyten Duyvil and ending with "the Sources of the Hudson."

Ethan's eye fell on a chapter called "The Environs of Kaaterskill and The Landing," but Anne asked, "How do we know where Van Tassel was when he painted?"

"Wait, here's a chapter called 'Weirdness on the Water,'" Tim said. "Let's check that out."

He turned the pages until he' d reached the chapter in question. Ethan read aloud, "The great river holds many secrets, most of which are not limited to a particular stretch. There are of course merpeople in the depths, _feux follets_ in the marshy shallows, rumours of the underwater panther, and, most alarming and rare, a ghostly, burning ship. this latter phantom has been seen irregularly since the early years of European settlement, but only once has an artist witnessed an appearance. That painter, the promising young van Tassel, left his record of the mysterious ship as a legacy a century-and-a-half ago, just before his untimely demise. His family bequeathed it to Kaaterskill Academy some ten years ago."

"Untimely demise, eh?" Tim said. "I wonder what happened."

He flipped through the genealogy book until he found what he sought.

"Here it is, the van Tassels," he said. "Let's see, Baltus came from Rotterdam, 1652. His son, Jan, settled on land bought of van Bergen near Saugerties in 1690. He had 5 sons―Galen, Tycho, Josef, Hans and Pieter; that's got to be him."

Anne traced down the page with her index finger until she reached the entry for Pieter van Tassel. "Pieter, born 27 July 1699 in Saugerties, studied magical art as apprentice to Richard van Rijn, showing great promise. Drowned in the marshes, 15 November 1722; it is thought he was led astray by _feux follets_ at night. He left a young wife, Emilie, and an infant daughter, Isabel."

"Well, that doesn't really tell us much, does it?" Ethan said, examining the page. "He was a painter and he had an accident. No connection."

He looked up. Tim and Anne were staring at him as if he were a ghost.

"Well, there isn't a thing here that says his death had anything to do with the Ship, is there?" he continued, trying to convince himself.

"True enough," Tim said. "It was probably a coincidence."

"Yeah, lots of people get fooled by the _Feux Follets_. It could have happened to anyone," Anne agreed, but Ethan knew his friends didn't believe their own words.

"Well, we'd better see if we can find out how to get into the Prophets' common room," Tim said.

"Yeah, let's," Ethan said, but his mind was still on Pieter van Tassel.

Alas, the Library yielded more information on Pieter van Tassel than on surreptitious ways of getting into the Tenskwatawa common room. Finally, just before Miss Ney would have expelled them anyway, Tim said, "We'd better get to bed, Ethan. Danny wants us up early before the match."

Ethan hadn't wanted to think too much about his first Quidditch match as Bradbury's Seeker, especially since it was against Tenskwatawa. Once back in the dorm, he lay awake in his four-poster long after Tim had closed his eyes and started snoring. Once he finally fell asleep, he drifted into dreams that featured a golden snitch that spoke with Katrina Powles' haughty voice and hung always just out of reach.


	12. Chapter 12: Seeking Answers

Chapter Twelve

Seeking Answers

The next morning, Tim shook him awake. "Come on, Ethan! We've got to get to breakfast early."

Ethan got up yawning, stumbled into his clothes and headed past the Dutchman on the way down to breakfast. Once the team had finished eating, they headed out to the locker rooms to change and make final preparations for the match.

Danny gave them a pep talk as they pulled on their team robes.

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen!" he exclaimed as he strode up and down the room. "Last year we were brilliant against the Prophets, thanks to Tim and Jenny. This year we need to close the deal and bring the trophy home to Bradbury. They won't underestimate Tim this year, so everyone needs to step up...and Ethan can provide the surprises this time!"

Ethan swallowed. It was bad enough to be reminded of his predecessor's timely capture which sealed Bradbury's win the previous year. He didn't need the pressure that Danny's well-intentioned exhortation had just put on his shoulders.

"Don't worry," Tim whispered as they marched out onto the pitch, cheers and jeers raining down on them from the stands. "Just do your job...seek, and the rest of us will run up the score."

Galvez beckoned the captains to the center of the pitch to shake hands. Danny and Mo Barnhill, the Tenskwatawa captain, did so rather briefly. Barnhill said something that made Danny blanch for a moment.

As they mounted their brooms, Danny gave a final word of encouragement.

"They've got fast brooms, but we've got better flyers! Let's show 'em!" he said.

Tim looked across at the Prophets' team and whistled.

"Those are all Quicksilver XLTs!" he said enviously. "The most technically advanced...I wonder where they got those."

"I think I know," Ethan said, for he'd spotted Simon Brocklebank sneering at him in a superior way across the pitch. "Looks like they have a new player, too."

Galvez whistled and tossed the quaffle high into the air. The bludgers were released and then the golden snitch fluttered away free. Ethan soared after it as play began in earnest. To his chagrin but not surprise, Ethan found Brocklebank shadowing him as the Tenskwatawa Seeker.

"Father decided if I deserved the best, so did my teammates," Simon boasted as he pulled even on his XLT. "Worried, Lloyd?"

"You wish!" Ethan said defiantly. "It takes more than speed to catch the snitch."

"If you say so. See ya!" Simon shouted as he rocketed away.

_Speed does help, though, _Ethan thought ruefully as he attempted to catch up, while also trying to keep his eye on the fluttering snitch. Simon hd gotten all the way around the Tenskwatawa hoops in the time Ethan had reached the first hoop, but Simon had clearly lost sight of the snitch. Ethan had last caught a glimpse of it about 30 feet above the hoops, so he coasted up to have a look. A bludger whistled past his left ear and Nick Cooper hurtled past him after it. Ethan looked about, eyes peeled for any movement, but there was nothing.

Brocklebank was zooming up and down the pitch, to little apparent effect. Looking down, Ethan saw that the XLTs were indeed affecting play. The Prophets had scored the first four goals and five of the first six. Only Danny's prowess as keeper was preventing a rout. Ethan redoubled his efforts to spot the snitch; he wanted to catch it before Tenskwatawa built an insurmountable lead.

Suddenly, he saw it, gold glinting as it flew nearly straight upwards about 30 feet ahead of him, back towards midfield. Simon was inconveniently nearby, but Ethan didn't want to waste valuable time, so he accelerated vertically after the snitch. The sun, brilliant on the nearly clear late fall day, made it difficult for Ethan to see his quarry. Ethan heard the whoosh of Simon's broom below. A good flyer, Simon would catch up in seconds on his superior broom.

Brocklebank passed Ethan, but neither boy could make out the snitch in the dazzling sunlight. Had Ethan been less single-minded in his pursuit, he might have registered how far above the pitch they'd come. When Simon leveled off, Ethan did too. Only then did he glance down for a moment and see the the other players and the crowd, mere ants far below him. He instinctively gripped his broomstick tighter.

"Not scared of heights, are you?" Simon yelled. "Just you and me up here, Lloyd. Nobody to save your skin, if you had a little accident."

Ethan ignored Simon and looked around for the snitch. He didn't think Simon was capable of knocking him out of the sky.

"What's that behind you?" Simon asked as he floated about ten feet from Ethan.

"You think I'm going to fall for that?" Ethan called back.

"I'm not kidding!" Simon retorted, pointing past Ethan. "What's that glow?"

Ethan then heard another voice over his shoulder, deep yet distant. "Ethan Lloyd, why do you tarry where you are in danger? The Cleansing has begun anew, yet here you remain."

Now Ethan whirled around. There he saw a half-circle of ghostly sailors floating before him with Jan van Dam in the middle.

"What are you talking about?" Ethan yelled in frustration. "I told you, I belong here! Leave me alone!"

Simon stared at him, caught between confused silence and scornful laughter.

Ethan turned to Brocklebank with an icy stare. "I don't need any ignorant comments from you, either!"

This awoke Simon from his trance. His eyes fixed beyond Ethan, he said, "Fine. You go ahead and talk to yourself. I'll just take the snitch and go."

As Simon flew past him, Ethan turned and saw the snitch fluttering amongst the ghosts.

Ethan cursed loudly and spurred his broom towards the snitch, but he knew there was no way he could reach the golden ball before Simon did.

A moment later, though, Brocklebank stopped short. As Ethan came along side he could see that the color had drained from his rival's face.

Simon was staring wild-eyed ahead of him. Ethan realized that Brocklebank could now see the sailors levitating around them, though he could not imagine how.

"Ghosts!" Simon shouted. "Call them off, Lloyd. You're cheating!"

"They don't take orders from me," Ethan said with a shrug. "Guess you'll be seeing their ship next."

Ethan had been alternately fascinated and annoyed by Van Dam and his crew., but he'd never been frightened by them. Simon, however, seemed paralyzed by fear of what he could now see. The snitch was now weaving its way around the ghosts, as if daring the boys to come closer.

Suddenly, the ghosts flanking Van Dam began moving closer, as if to close a circle around the two Seekers. This apparently pushed Brocklebank over the edge. Ethan had seen Simon panic once before, so he was unsurprised when his rival let out a whoop of fear, swung around and zoomed away.

Ethan, unperturbed by the ghosts' incorporeal movement, moved forward at the same instant that Simon fled. He cruised right up to Van Dam and plucked the golden snitch off the captain's shoulder.

"Thanks!" Ethan said, grasping the snitch in his right hand. "Now, please stop trying to save my life, will you?"

Van Dam let out a sepulchral sigh but said nothing. The next moment he and his crew faded, images shredding like a fog clearing. Once again, the sunlight dazzled Ethan and at last the realization of how high above the ground he really was sank in. He steadied himself and cruised down slowly.

As he neared the stands and the other players, he held the snitch aloft. As he did so, a huge roar went up from the Bradbury supporters. A moment later he was mobbed by his teammates. Danny was slapping his back so hard that Ethan thought he'd fall the remaining distance to the ground. But he managed to coast down to the ground, where he handed Galvez the snitch.

"That was amazing!" Tim shouted in his ear. "How'd you manage to beat Brocklebank to it all the way up there?"

"I didn't," Ethan managed to gasp. "But Simon's afraid of ghosts."

Across the pitch, Tenskwatawa's captain was berating his Seeker. Like an echo, the only words Ethan could make out were "afraid of ghosts?"

"Handy bit of flying, Lloyd," Ethan heard the gruff voice of Uriel Swope from behind him.

"Thanks, sir!" Ethan replied, somewhat distracted by Marcus' attempts to pour a barrel of Pumpkin Juice over his head.

"Glad to see heights don't bother you," Swope added. "Nor strange orange clouds..."

Just then Anne and Alec reached them.

"Well done, Ethan!" Anne exclaimed, smiling broadly.

"Yeah!" Alec agreed, adding "Do you always have to dodge ghosts to catch the snitch?"

Everyone looked at Alec as if he'd gone mad―everyone, that is, but Swope, who was looking at Ethan shrewdly. Just then Marcus, with Kyle's help, succeeded in tipping the pumpkin juice barrel over Ethan. Normally, he wouldn't have wanted to find himself covered with the sticky, sweet orange liquid, but it saved him from having to deal with awkward questions about his snitch capture.

Tim cleaned up the pumpkin with a _scourgify_ spell. The team trooped into the lockers to shower and change. Not long after, feeling much refreshed, Ethan and Tim joined their classmates in the grandstand to watch the Harrison-Tituba match.

"So," Tim said quietly as the match began. "What did you and Simon see up there?"

"You've already guessed," Ethan said as Anne craned her neck to hear their conversation. "Van Dam and his crew. Why can't they leave me alone? Still, they scared Brocklebank so much, he ran away."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Tim said. "Brocklebank _saw_ the ghosts?"

"Sure did," Ethan confirmed. "Wanted me to send them away. As if I could!"

"Well, you did, didn't you?" Anne asked. "The glow disappeared just as you caught the snitch."

"Not really," Ethan said. "Though I suppose I did discourage them. But they hung around until I had the snitch."

"Maybe they're secretly Bradbury fans," Tim said with a laugh.

"Well, it _was_ strange the way the snitch just sort of stayed with them," Ethan recounted. "And Brocklebank wouldn't go near them."

"But why could Simon see them?" Anne asked.

"I don't know," Ethan said. "It was pretty convenient, though. Maybe they do like me."

"It's as if they're broadcasting on a TV channel only you can see," Tim mused as Anne looked confused. "Well, you and Alec. And then, all of a sudden, Brocklebank tunes in. Weird."

"Yeah, but there's one thing I've decided," said Ethan. "I'm not afraid of Van Dam. Whoever sent the ghosts, they mean me no harm. Which reminds me...Van Dam told me the Cleansing had begun 'anew.'"

"You mean it's happened before?" Anne asked.

"That's what it must mean," Ethan affirmed.

"We've got to find out _when_ it happened," Tim said. "That could tell us a lot."

The three of them had become so absorbed in their conversation that they'd forgotten there was a quidditch match going on. Just then the crowd erupted in cheers. The Harrison seeker had just caught the snitch, ending the match.

As the student body headed in, the Bradbury and Harrison crowds were particularly boisterous. Parties were being planned, people were cheering their teams and players. Ethan vaguely realized that his name was one of those being shouted, but his mind was focused on Van Dam and his words about the Cleansing.

He reached the doors of the school, where the crowd funneled into the Entry Hall. Everyone slowed down. Ethan found himself behind Edwin Malinowski and some other Harrisons, who were deep in conversation and didn't notice him.

"Oh, come on, Jana," Edwin said to a short, round-faced Harrison girl to his right. "Whatever you may think of Lloyd, he can't be Hrothgar's heir...can he?"

"Think about it, Ed," Jana said. "He was there when Standish was found―and he'd just had a run-in with Standish; he conjured up that lightning storm on the way up river; and now we find out he can summon ghosts to win quidditch matches."

"But his parents made Hafgan go away and last year _he_ kept Hafgan from coming back from what I've heard," Edwin protested.

"Yeah, well from what _I _ heard," Jana said in a still lower voice. "Lloyd killed a teacher at the end of last year. And we still don't know whose side his parents were really on, do we? That's why I told Bram to lie low for awhile, since he let Lloyd hear he's muggle-born."

"I still say you're nuts," Edwin responded, but he said no more.

"Thanks, Ed," Ethan said, unable to contain himself.

Edwin looked around, startled. Jana and the other Harrisons jumped and backed against the side of the corridor. They looked convinced that Ethan might freeze them with a glance at any moment.

"What makes you think I'm going to attack any one?" Ethan asked angrily. "And Hafgan killed Skryme, I didn't!"

"That's your story. I think your record speaks for itself," Jana said insistently. "Incidentally, I'm a full-blood back 20 generations, if you were wondering."

Tim, Anne and Marcus had stopped to watch the proceedings. At this point, Marcus interjected, "Well. maybe you could let them off with a minor curse this time, oh mighty one...as a warning!"

The humor was lost on both Ethan and the Harrisons.

"Why should I care who your ancestors were?" Ethan asked Jana in exasperation.

"Well, you live with muggles," Jana replied stubbornly. "I heard that you dropped some huge light standard on one you didn't like."

"Not exactly," Ethan said hesitantly, taken aback that word of incidents from his life in Madison were being circulated around Kaaterskill. "I mean, he was a bully beating up a little kid."

"Ah-ha, so you admit it!" Jana replied triumphantly.

"No! Oh, you're hopeless!" Ethan exclaimed. "Where's Bram? I need to talk with him."

"Why do you want to talk to him?" Jeremy Holsapple asked fearfully.

"Don't you be a prat, too!" Ethan answered. "I just want to explain what happened the night Standish was frozen."

"We all saw for ourselves," Jana said. "What's to explain?"

"Come on, Ethan," Tim said. "You can't talk sense to them, not right now."

Reluctantly, Ethan moved up the hall with his friends, leaving the Harrisons muttering among themselves.

"Forget it!" Anne urged. "They're ignorant and they're scared. That's a really bad combination."

"Yeah, OK," Ethan replied. But the Harrisons' reaction bothered him. It was one thing to be at odds with Brocklebank and his ilk, but Ethan had always been reasonably friendly with the Harrison second-years.

As they were about to go through the hidden door that was the shortcut to Bradbury Tower, Ethan felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned and saw Professor Swope.

"Lloyd, since the matches finished so quickly, perhaps you'd like to do a bit more protective work after lunch?" he asked.

"Sure," Ethan said, glad for the chance to think about something other than the Cleansing. "How about 3 o'clock?"

"See you then," Swope replied and he stumped off down the hallway, humming to himself.

"Someone seems pretty happy," Marcus observed. "Must have had money on Bradbury."

"Or Harrison," Ethan suggested.

At lunch and afterwards in the Common Room, Ethan was able to keep his encounter with the Harrisons in the back of his mind, for everyone else focused on the quidditch match. He found he rather liked having older students he'd never met come up to congratulate him. Every now and again, he had to remind himself that he, Ethan Lloyd, had in fact _won the match for Bradbury_. He really hadn't had any idea of the score until Tim had told him: Tenskwatawa was leading 160-20 when the snitch was captured.

"They were just too fast for us," Tim admitted. "I scored one and so did Melinda. That was it. If you'd taken another two minutes, your catch wouldn't have made any difference. It was brutal."

As 3 o'clock approached, Ethan was loath to leave the Common Room and his new found popularity for the quiet of Swope's studio. But he did want to learn more about protective spells, so off he went.

Along the way, his mind wandered from quidditch back to the Harrisons. He was talking to himself, head down, when he ran into something so hard that he was knocked back on his seat.

When he looked up, there was Mr. Beadle. Ethan sprang up quickly.

"Sorry there, Mr. Lloyd, Beedle said. "But you should look where you're going!"

"Yeah, sorry," Ethan said, noting with a start that Beadle was carrying a large, gray, furry animal―obviously dead―by the tail in his left hand. "What is that, Mr. Beadle?"

"Wolf, found it dead outside the greenhouses. Third one this month," Beadle explained. "Odd, no signs of violence on any of them. The headmaster wanted to know right away if any more were harmed."

"Maybe the wolves are after Standish's animals," Ethan suggested.

"Maybe," Beadle said doubtfully. "I'll admit things have been odd since Ebenezer was attacked. I'm doin' the best I can, but I'm no gamekeeper. But wolves...see, Bradbury himself s'posedly had an agreement with them. They don't bother out creatures, they can live safely on Kaaterskill land. Something's seriously wrong if they're being killed."

Beadle looked worried. Ethan's own anxiety was magnified by the custodian's concern.

"Well, I'd better be going," he told Beadle. "I'll be late for Professor Swope."

"Very well, you watch yourself now, Mr. Lloyd," Beadle said as he continued down the stairs.

Ethan hurried up to the next floor. As he dashed through the next corridor towards the stairs that led up to the studio, the already-sinking late fall sun nearly blinded him. Before he could shield his eyes to see where he was going, he'd tripped over something large and once again sprawled on the floor.

He'd landed in something wet and cursed as he struggled to get up. Robes dripping, he turned to see what he'd fallen over and when he did, his knees almost gave way again.

Bram Rozema crouched unmoving on the floor, one arm shielding his face, the other outstretched (it was this arm Ethan had tripped over), a look of fear and surprise on his face. He was frozen, that much was clear, and the outline of his form flickered indistinctly just as Standish's had.

Ethan wanted to call for help, but at the same time he wanted to be miles away from Bram's blank stare. For a moment, he thought of just continuing up the stairs to the studio, but then he wondered how he would explain his soaked robes to Swope. He looked again at the floor and saw a series of puddles that led further down the corridor.

As he hesitated, a shimmering form emerged from the wall opposite and he saw the Harrison ghost, Natty Swarts. She swooped down to his level, curtsied and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Lloyd." Then she stopped short, hovering over Bram's motionless form and let out a high-pitched scream.

"What have you done?" the ghost wailed. "Help! Student attacked! Woe, woe! Help!"

Suddenly there came the sound of many rushing footsteps from both directions. In the vanguard came round-faced Jana Gerrits and Jeremy Holsapple. Down the stairs stumped Uriel Swope, who looked from Nattie Swarts to Ethan and Bram, then to the growing crowd.

"Caught red-handed!" Jana exclaimed dramatically, looking straight at Ethan.

"Silence!" Swope roared. He waved his wand and set off what sounded like a thunderclap.

"Head back to your common rooms," Swope bellowed at the students, who obeyed as more students arrived: Tiverton, Renfro and, last of all, Herodotus Bancroft.

"What do you know about this, Lloyd?" Bancroft asked, as he knelt before Bram.

"Nothing, sir," Ethan replied, shaking. "I tripped over him on the way to the art studio."

Tiverton arched an eyebrow. Swope, who had now moved beside Ethan, said, "That's true. He had an appointment with me this afternoon."

"On a Saturday, after a smashing quidditch victory?" Tiverton asked acidly. "By the way, Lloyd, congratulations on a fine catch, to you and your teammates, the living and the ghosts."

Bancroft looke up and said, "Terence, will you and Uriel take this boy to the Infirmary, please?"

Neither of the teachers looked overly pleased, but Tiverton immediately conjured a stretcher shaped perfectly to carry Bram in the awkward position in which he'd been frozen. Then he levitated Bram onto the stretcher and Swope began steering the unfortunate boy down the hall.

"Now, Lloyd, you come with me," Bancroft said.

"But, sir, I had nothing to do with..." Ethan protested.

"That will be for the Headmaster to determine," Bancroft replied as they walked up the corridor and down another set of stairs. In a moment they'd passed the library and Bancroft stopped down the corridor at the statue of a rather jaunty looking wizard.

Bancroft looked at the wall next to the statue and said "_Worm-eating fernbird!_" The door appeared before them and as they entered the small anteroom, another door appeared to their left. With one more step they were on the moving floor which bore Ethan once again to the desk of Cyrus Flyte.


	13. Chapter 13: The Mimicavoci Potion

Chapter Thirteen

The Mimicavoci Potion

"Wait here, Mr. Lloyd," Professor Bancroft said, and he disappeared through a door behind the desk.

Ethan stood and looked around. The office appeared much as it had on the other occasion he'd been brought here, after the _Jo-Ge-Oh_ had rescued him from Hafgan in Spook Woods. The paintings of past headmasters hung on the walls, their subjects mostly napping, though one or two eyed Ethan curiously.

He took a few steps to get a closer look at the portraits when he heard a quick yelp at his feet. He looked down and saw that he'd disturbed a dog that had been curled up by the fireplace, a slender beast with short brown fur, long legs, a needle-nosed snout and an even longer tail that was forked at the end. The animal now got up and stretched, contemplating Ethan with gentle, brown eyes.

Ethan held out a hand and, after the dog sniffed, scratched it behind the ears.

"Ah, Mr. Lloyd, I see you've met Burr," Cyrus Flyte said as he entered the room with Bancroft. "Herodotus, I shall be in touch shortly."

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I frightened him," Ethan said as Bancroft left the office. "Is he yours?"

"Now there is a good question," Flyte said, his eyes meeting the dog's. "I don't believe that's the right way to describe our relationship. You see, grey-crups are rather remarkable creatures. From the age of the Old Kingdom in Egypt, they have chosen their own companions among humans. They've spent time with pharoahs, temple priests, alchemists and seers. I suppose that I am honored that Burr decided to adopt me."

The sleek dog looked at Flyte in a gently dignified way, as if to agree with this assessment. Ethan looked in wonder at the two of them, as they seemingly conversed silently.

Then Flyte said aloud, "Very well, off you go then."

Suddenly the dog began whirling about, as if chasing its own forked tail. On the third rotation, there was a sudden flash and Burr disappeared.

Ethan jumped back, startled.

"Yes, Burr can apparate in his own way," Flyte said, amused. "He's loyal, very strong, can heal wounds with his breath and some say his kind can even fly in great need."

There came a rapping at the door.

"Come!" Flyte commanded. The door opened and in stomped Beadle, still carrying the dead wolf. He nearly toppled over as he reached the end of the moving floor.

"Professor Flyte, sir, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have to tell ya that this lad is innocent..."

"Mr. Beadle, I assure you," Flyte began to reply, but the custodian kept talking.

"He was talking to me on the stairs, there's no way he...

"I know, I know," Flyte tried to interject.

"You know, sir, I'm the last one to let any student off easy, but it just couldn't have been Lloyd..."

"Beadle, listen to me," Flyte said determinedly. "I do not believe that Ethan here was involved in this or any other attack!"

"Oh, well, that's different," the custodian said, abashed. "I'll just wait my turn to discuss..."

Beadle's voice trailed off and he stepped back onto the moving floor and was carried back out the door.

"You believe me, then?" Ethan asked, relieved.

"Yes, Ethan, I believe you," Flyte said gravely. "Yet I still wish to speak with you."

Ethan sat nervously as Flyte considered him, eyes gazing down his long beak of a nose from under the bushy eyebrows, his shock of white hair swaying a bit.

"Strange things are happening, Ethan," the headmaster said at last. "And I must ask you whether you have anything to tell me...anything, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

Ethan felt Flyte's penetrating gaze as he thought of the ghosts who had pursued him all the way from Madison to the quidditch pitch; of the gleam in Katrina Powles' eye when she saw Standish frozen and read the warning about the Cleansing; of the mysterious artist Van Tassel; and of his school mates' open suspicions about him and his own doubts: was he somehow linked to Hrothgar?

It all seemed too much for Ethan to endure, yet too diffuse to describe convincingly. So he didn't try.

"No, sir, really there's nothing else to say," Ethan told the headmaster.

* * *

As the news spread that a time-frozen student had joined Standish in the infirmary, fear bordering on panic infected the student body. Only the approach of Christmas, when nearly all students went home, allayed the almost universal anxiety afflicting the school. Ethan and Tim had remained at Kaaterskill the previous Christmas; it had been pleasant having the best seats in the Common Room for the whole break, though Ethan had missed being home for the holidays.

When he'd had time to think about the holidays, Ethan had assumed he would be spending his break at Kaaterskill again. Then one morning at breakfast, Bucky swooped down to the Bradbury table, looking very pleased with himself as he held out a small envelope, the address in a flowing hand that Ethan recognized as his mother's.

Ethan tossed a sausage to Bucky, stroked his feathers and then opened the envelope. As he read, he gave a little whoop that caused Anne and Tim to look at him curiously.

"I'm going to Uncle Bertrand's for Christmas!" he exclaimed. "And they've invited both of you...oh and Alec, too, of course."

"Cool!" Tim said. "I bet my folks won't object. I can't really go home anyway."

"I hope my parents will let me go," Anne added. "Especially since Simon and Katrina will be in the city."

"And that would be good why?" Ethan asked, perplexed. "Are you planning a little holiday get-together?"

"Certainly not, but we do want to find out what they know about the Cleansing, don't we?" Anne replied.

"Um, Anne, New York's a pretty big city," Tim pointed out. "What are the chances that we'll cross paths?"

"A lot better than you might think," Anne said. "Because we can get some inside information."

"You mean Peter?" Tim asked, referring to Katrina's twin. "You think he'd do it?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure of it," Anne said. "He is _so_ ready to get back at her for last year...really, for his whole life. Plus he still feels guilty over what he did to you two last year."

"Well, even if we know where they're going to be, _and_ we can get there ourselves," Ethan said. "How can we know they'll talk about the Cleansing?"

"Well, for one thing, I doubt they'll be able to help themselves," Anne said. "I guarantee it will come up."

"Ethan's amulet could come in handy," Tim suggested. "And I'll try to think of any other way to be sure we'll hear what they have to say."

"I wonder if you could _Imperio _them from under the amulet?" Anne asked idly.

"No!" Tim said vehemently. "First of all, they call it a Forbidden Curse for a reason! Second, we don't know how to do it...they don' t teach it even to 7th years. And third, when you cast spells under that amulet, they behave strangely."

Anne shrugged. "OK, you come up with something else, then," she said cheerily. "After all, you're the brains of this operation."

Ethan was unable to devote much time to Christmas plans over the next few weeks, though. Exams loomed before holidays and he had to spend most of his free time studying.

Tim had uncovered a couple of ways to get Brocklebank to talk, though he was pessimistic they would work.

"There's Polyjuice Potion," he told Ethan and Anne in the Common Room after dinner one night. "We could use it to change our appearance. If we looked like Van Nort and Harding, Brocklebank might tell us anything we asked."

"That sounds interesting,"Anne said, lifting her quill from a Charms essay. "That is, if you can stand looking like those two cretins."

"Well,it's probably a moot point," Tim said. I've never seen a more complicated potion. And it takes a month to make."

"Maybe if we can't find anything out over the holidays," Ethan said. "What else is there?"

"Well, _veritaserum_ would make him tell us whatever he knows," Tim continued. "But we'd have to steal it from Renfro―if he even has any."

Just then, Peter Powles slid into an empty chair next to Anne. After looking around to make sure that no one else was listening, he whispered, "If you want to eavesdrop on Simon and my sister, you'll have a chance the day after Christmas. We're invited to the Brocklebanks' place in the city."

"That's great, Peter," Ethan said. "Where is it?"

"Well, I've only been there once, about 5 years ago," Peter said. "But it's huge...a whole floor in a big apartment building on Central Park West. The funny thing is, none of the muggles who live there even know their floor exists."

Ethan frowned, thinking of his great-uncle's house on Farrand Square. "Well, if the muggles can't see it," he said. "Isn't it likely we won't be able to, either, unless we're invited."

"And that's not bloody likely," Anne added with a shake of her red hair.

"There might be a way," Peter said. "If I could come up with a reason to get there a little later, then maybe they'd let me have the _Fidelius_ note. I could meet you outside and let you in."

"We'd have to use your amulet," Tim observed.

"What makes you think the Brocklebanks will go along with this?" Anne asked.

"Well, they probably wouldn't mind if I wasn't there for the whole visit," Peter said. "I will be the only non-Tenskwatawa there, after all."

"Exactly," Anne countered. "Won't they just prefer to leave you standing outside?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure Dad won't go for that," Peter said, adding grimly, "Mom might, of course. But Katrina will probably want me there for the sport of it."

"It's worth a try," Ethan said. "But Peter, you'll need to tell us exactly where and when to meet you. And we'll need to know how to get out, too."

"And we still have to find a way to make sure they talk," Anne reminded them, giving Tim a meaningful look.

Tim nodded, but on the way up to the dorm that night, he whispered to Ethan, "Is this a plan or a recipe for disaster?"

"Could be either," Ethan said. "But for now it's all we've got."

* * *

Four days before the Winter Solstice, which was when most students would leave for the holidays, Tim rushed into the Common Room after the Library closed for the evening. Looking up from his last History of Magic essay of the term, Ethan could tell Tim had some exciting news to impart. Sitting across the room at an otherwise empty table, Anne also looked up. Tim sat down in a chair across from Anne and Ethan moved over to sit next to him.

Tim leaned over the table, glancing around briefly to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. But it was late, most Bradburys had already retired and the few remaining were half-dozing before the fire.

"Well, you've obviously found something out," Anne whispered. "Come on, out with it!"

"Well, I was taking one last look around the Library," Tim said. "To see if there was any potion or spell I'd missed that would help out with Simon and Katrina after Christmas."

"I thought you'd checked every book in the Library, even Special Collections," Ethan observed.

"So did I, but in the Potions section, I found this," Tim said as he pulled an ancient-looking tome out of his bookbag. "I swear it wasn't there a week ago."

"_The Art of Imitation_ ," Ethan read the title from the cracked leather spine. "Maybe someone had it signed out."

"Could be. Anyway, most of these are almost as bad as Polyjuice Potion," Tim said, flipping pages before finally stopping near the middle. "But this one might work...and we might even be able to do it before we leave."

"_Mimicavoci_ potion," Ethan read from the book. "Most of these ingredients are in the student stores. And it only takes a day to mature. This might work!"

Anne turned the book around so she could read it, too.

"_Mimicavoci_ effectively allows the user to copy the voice of the person whose voice has been imprinted upon the potion," she read. "What does that mean―imprinting a voice on the potion?"

"If you read the recipe through, you'll see," Tim explained, pointing a bit further down the page. "During the twelve hours immediately following the final stirring, the _Mimicavoci _should be uncorked in the presence of the person whose voice is to be copied. The potionmaker must say the words _voci registrada_; the potion will then be imprinted with the next voice in earshot."

"Whoa, are you sure this is easier than Polyjuice?" Ethan asked.

"Nope," Tim answered. "And I didn't say so, either. It's quicker and it uses ingredients that we don't have to steal from Renfro's stores. It's really pretty ingenious―the secret is the use of the roasted myrtle leaves at the end. Nothing exotic about it at all. We'll need to have two vials, one for Simon's voice, the other for Katrina's."

"Well, we'd better get started soon, if we're going to do this at all," said Anne. "We can get the ingredients in Potions tomorrow."

"We'll probably have to make it up in the dorm," Ethan opined, adding as Anne scowled. "I know, but it needs to be out of the way and if we do it in our dorm there'll be two of us to look after the cauldron."

"If we start tomorrow afternoon, we'll have just enough time to finish before we leave," Tim said thoughtfully. "We'll have to do the imprinting on the steamboat."

* * *

At the end of Potions the next day, Tim kept Professor Renfro busy with questions about the final exam they'd just taken. Tim had clearly aced the test and their discussion focused on the finer points of the Vanishing potion they'd made. This gave Ethan and Anne just enough time to visit the students' supply cupboard unobserved. There they found the myrtle leaves, nail of bog creature, root of the Icelandic _storgé_ plant, dried Indian paintbrush blossom, along with several glass vials. Anne hurriedly spooned the _Mimicavoci_ ingredients into bags and slipped them and the vials into Ethan's bookbag. Then they slipped past Renfro and Tim, who were still deep in conversation.

"Got everything?" Tim asked as he caught up to them out in the corridor on the way to their next class.

"Check," Ethan said. "Tonight we can start the mixing."

As he and Tim carefully began making the _Mimicavoci_ in the dorm that night, Marcus eyed the small cauldron curiously.

"What's cooking?" he asked, gazing at the azure puffs of smoke that rose from the surface of the liquid as Tim stirred.

"Just a little extra credit project," Ethan told him.

"What for?" Kyle chimed in.

"Can't reveal that, sorry," Tim said solemnly.

"Oh, come on, you can tell _us_," Marcus protested.

"We'll consider it when you're ready to tell us when we should expect a fireworks show," Ethan said.

Kyle and Marcus exchanged a glance, but said nothing else.

Ethan grinned. "So that's the way it's going to be," he said. "You keep your secrets and we'll keep ours."

They'd told Peter what they were doing, so when he arrived he feigned no interest in the potion.

By the time everyone gathered at the Main Door to board wagons for the ride to the Landing, Anne had not two, but three well-stoppered vials of _Mimicavoci_ in the inside pocket of her robes ("_one extra, just in case,"_ Tim had said). While the boys had made the potion, Anne had practiced the imprinting incantation. They'd decided to perform the spell afternoon, with Peter's help.

It was a cold, clear day on the Hudson as _Kaaterskill_ steamed south to Hoboken. As he walked the deck, Ethan was glad that his mother had packed his muggle winter coat way back in September. They took turns trying to unobtrusively keep an eye on Katrina and Simon, who true to form spent the entire morning in the company of Van Nort, Harding and a couple of other Tenskwatawa classmates.

Ethan picked at his lunch, and he could tell the others' nerves were affecting their appetites, too.

As Kaaterskill passed under the graceful Bear Mountain Bridge, the four conspirators went back on deck and spied Simon and Katrina near the bow. They looked at each other, nodding in silent agreement that it was time to put their plan into motion. They were counting on Peter to lure his sister into a confrontation.

The Bradburys sidled up to the rail, Peter right next to Simon and Katrina, Anne on his other side. Woody Harding sauntered up and joined his housemates, giving a dimly confused look at Ethan and his friends.

"Nice day, huh?" Peter said aloud, looking straight out at the river.

Ethan saw Anne reach inside her coat. He hoped the three Tenskwatawas didn't notice the vial she'd slipped into her hand.

Simon glanced disdainfully at Peter. "Until you showed up, Powles," he sneered.

Anne was ready to pull the cork from the first vial.

"There's no need to be rude, Simon," Peter said cheerfully, still staring out at the water. "Especially as we'll be seeing you on Boxing Day."

Simon gave Peter an odd look, as he was unused to Katrina's twin talking back to him. He opened his mouth to speak and Anne uncorked the vial. Ethan heard her say, firmly but quietly, "_Voci Registrada_."

"Yes, well perhaps you should stay home," Simon drawled. "That would make it more pleasant for the rest of us."

Anne popped the cork back in place and tucked the vial into her right pocket. Instantly she extracted the second vial from the left.

"Oh no, I wouldn't miss it," Peter continued, beaming at Simon. "I want to be sure to give your parents my best holiday greeting!"

Now Katrina looked askance at her twin. Anne pulled the next cork and muttered the spell again.

"Exams must have burnt out what's left of your mind, brother," Katrina spat. "I doubt any Brocklebank will look forward to your greeting."

As Anne pocketed the second vial and prepared the extra one, Peter turned his odd, cheerful smile on his sister and said, "Oh no, sis. They're much too refined to be unpleasant, I'm sure. After all, they're always nice enough to Woody, right Simon?"

Anne had just said the spell for a third time when Simon, Katrina and Woody all spoke at once, or so it seemed to Ethan.

"Whaddya mean?" Harding asked stupidly.

"You've been confunded, Peter!" Katrina exclaimed.

"Don't insult my parents, you scum!" Brocklebank sputtered, reaching for his wand.

As Simon moved towards him, Peter flinched and took a step backwards. His elbow brushed Anne's hand and she gasped as the last vial slipped from her hand. Ethan dove forward and caught the vial before it hit the deck. Somehow, not a drop spilled. He quickly took the cork form Anne's other hand, stoppered and pocketed it.

Tim had stepped around Ethan, between Peter and Simon.

"Don't try anything, Simon," he said firmly, wand at the ready.

Simon glared at him. "Don't interfere, mudblood!" he shouted.

But Katrina pulled Simon away.

"Leave it...for now," she said. "After all, we'll have Peter all to ourselves after Christmas. Nobody to protect him at your place."

"Yeah, OK," Brocklebank relented, pocketing his wand again. The Tenskwatawas moved closer to the bow. The Bradburys headed into the cabin and found seats. Everyone but Tim seemed shaken by their close shave.

"Hey, we got what we needed, right?" he said. "That act was perfect, Peter."

"Thanks," Peter said weakly. "Don't let's do it again, though."

"You don't think they noticed anything?" Anne asked. "You know, when I dropped the vial."

"I don't think so. Tim distracted them," Ethan said as he reached into his pocket. "Oh yeah, here's that other vial."

Anne took it and wrote a "K" on the cork, then stuffed it into her own pocket.

By the time _Kaaterskill_ steamed into its Hoboken pier, the winter afternoon sun was shining across the Manhattan skyline, glinting off the lofty spire of the Empire State Building and the even taller rectangles to its south. As Ethan gazed on New York from the rail, he wondered what the holidays would be like in a city of millions of people.

Uncle Bertrand was waiting for them. He gathered Ethan, Anne, Tim and Alec and steered them onto the Wunderground for what proved to be an uneventful trip to Farrand Square. As the train slid through the subway station. Ethan saw crowds of muggles rushing to and fro with their holiday parcels. He hoped he'd have a chance to do some shopping for presents himself before Christmas morning.

Aunt Eilonwy welcomed them at the door and ushered them to their rooms. Anne had a lare guest room to herself on the top floor. The three boys shared the same room they'd had back in September.

Dinner was delicious and conversation flowed easily. It appeared that Uncle Bertrand had gone to school with Anne's great-grandfather. Bertrand had many questions about Anne's family.

"So, you still live on that beautiful little rock off Eastport?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, I grew up on Findlay's Island," Anne answered.

"Lovely," Bertrand said, looking away nostalgically. "Well do I remember visiting your great-grandpa Bert there on holiday from Kaaterskill. Glad to return the favor for you now."

"Pardon me, Mr. Belanger," Alec piped up. "Did you say you were both named Bert?"

"Yes, we had the same nickname," Uncle Bertrand explained. "He was _Al__bert_, you see, and I was _Bert__rand._ Both being the same year in Bradbury, everyone got us mixed up. So naturally we ended up as best friends."

Bertrand sat back in his chair and looked off wistfully again.

"What was he like?" Anne asked.

Bertrand looked at her sadly. "Of course, you never met him," he said. "Generous to a fault, funny, reddest hair I'd ever seen until I met you, the best Chaser ever." Turning to Tim, he added, "Though I hear he may finally have competition on that score. And brave...too brave, really, in the end."

"What happened?" Ethan asked.

Uncle Bertrand hesitated. Anne answered, "He was killed by Grindelwald. My dad told me."

"Yes, he was one of the first volunteers from the States to go over," Bertrand explained. "Before the authorities decided to take on Grindelwald. Joined the underground opposition."

"Dad said he actually infiltrated Grindelwald's inner circle," Anne added. "Apparently great-grandpa was supposed to assassinate him."

"Yes, that was the plan," Bertrand affirmed. "He was the only one with the courage to volunteer. Came closer to pulling it off than any one had a right to expect."

"What went wrong?" Alec asked eagerly.

"As so often happens, a spy betrayed him," Bertrand said bitterly. "Of course, Grindelwald had spies everywhere. Ang Hsu led a rescue team, but they were lucky just to recover Bert's body. Grindelwald killed him personally, it's said."

"He's buried on the Island," Anne said. "Nobody talks about him much, just the one time I asked my dad about him in the graveyard."

"He was valiant," Bertrand said, shaking his head. "But only one wizard was a match for Grindelwald."

"And who was that?" Alec asked.

"Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts, of course," Aunt Eilonwy chimed in. "He'd known Grindelwald years earlier. Finally, Dumbledore challenged and defeated him―imprisoned Grindelwald in his own fortress. Still locked up in Nurmengard after all these years, as far as anyone knows."

With that, the table fell silent for a time. Dessert appeared and as they ate pumpkin pie, Ethan decided to ask about going into Manhattan.

"Aunt Eilonwy, I still need to do some Christmas shopping," he said. "I was wondering if I could go into the city tomorrow."

"Hmm, well, I just don't know," she said fretfully. "Bert and I do have some things to do here. I guess I could spare him for the afternoon. I suppose your friends will want to go, too."

"Yes, please!" Anne said.

"As long as nobody peeks at what I get," said Ethan.

The next day dawned clear and cold. After breakfast, the Belangers invited them to help decorate the 8-foot spruce in the front window. Scattered on the living room floor were numerous boxes of ornaments ready to placed on the tree.

"The sooner Bertrand gets the tree decorated, the sooner he'll be able to take you into the city," Eilonwy told them.

"Yes, please go ahead and pitch in," Uncle Bertrand said. "Just leave that box marked 'Fairies' to me."

Anne dove in first, eagerly opening a box and starting to levitate ornaments onto the tree.

"This is just how we do it at home," she told the others with a smile.

Tim and Ethan joined in. The box Ethan opened was full of miniature Catherine Wheels, which whirled magically once they been floated up to their places on the tree. Tim's box held multi-colored candles. Once Tim had them in place, Bertrand cast a spell to light them all.

Only Alec held back. When Ethan urged him to help, he said, "But we'd barely finished levitation before exams. I'm not very good."

"Then you need practice," Ethan told him, floating a Santa Claus ornament that kept saying "Ho!Ho!Ho!" Alec grasped his wand and said "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" just as Ethan let Santa go. Soon Santa was located about half way up the tree and Alec had joined in the decorating.

Ethan didn't really know how it was done, but Uncle Bertrand had charmed the ornaments to orbit the the tree. And when all the other decorations were hung, he opened the box labelled "Fairies." From within he levitated several dozen entranced fairies (in assorted colors), then cast a spell to reanimate them. They circled the tree, wings fluttering amidst the rotating Catherine Wheels, candles and other ornaments.

After lunch, Uncle Bertrand and the four students took the "W" directly to the basement of Cortelyou's Department Store in Stuyvesant's Alley. Exiting the station, an off-key chorus of "I'm Dreaming of a Charmed Christmas" greeted them. Ethan beheld a sea of red, green and white lights glinting around stacks of holiday merchandise. Along each side of the aisle leading into the store were a dozen surly-looking dwarves in Santa suits.

"Merry Christmas!" Alec said to one of them as they passed. The dwarf just scowled at Alec and began joylessly singing "Have Yourself a Magic Little Christmas" with his fellows.

"Why don't you all spread out and find what you need," Uncle Bertrand suggested. "We'll have tea up in the restaurant on the 5th floor when you're done."

Ethan headed to the Quidditch supplies section first and bought a Quaffle-shot Trainer for Tim. Next he looked for Anne's gift which he found more problematical, since he had very little idea what a 12-year old girl might want. After looking fruitlessly in the Girls' Clothing and Accessories―turning crimson when an elderly sales-witch offered to help him find "just the right thing for that special someone"--Ethan decided on a book instead: _Influential Witches of the 20__th__ Century and their Magical Secretes_. He ran into Tim in the Books department.

"Almost done," Tim told him. "Just have to find something for Anne."

"Good luck," Ethan said. "I got her a book."

"Oh, there's an idea," said Tim. "I'm looking for the kind of stuff my sisters would like. 'Course they've never seen Cortelyou's. Oh, if you're still shopping for Alec, don't get him a pocket sneakoscope or he'll get two. He needs to know where his enemies are more than anyone I've ever met!"

Since Tim had gotten Alec such a serious gift, Ethan decided on something more frivolous: a portable Wizarding Wireless receiver. Then he settled on a small bottle of perfume for Aunt Eilonwy and a traveling cape for Uncle Bertrand. After collecting Ethan's payment, the cheery old clerk wrapped his packages and then shrunk them all to fit into a single shopping bag. "Just remember, say _Cortelyou's Christmas_ to restore them, dear," she told him.

The others had already joined Uncle Bertrand by the time Ethan arrived in the restaurant, an elegant room with burgundy tapestries and potted plants that overlooked an atrium at the center of the building. Diners along one side of the restaurant had a panoramic view of the street outside.

"I trust your quest was successful," said Uncle Bertrand, sipping a cup of tea and glancing at Ethan's bag. Alec had already finished a large pumpkin juice. Anne and Tim were each having butterbeer. A large plate of delicious-looking pastries adorned the center of the table. "What will you have to drink, Ethan?"

"Butterbeer, please," Ethan said without hesitation as he sat down between Anne and Alec. Instantly a steaming mug appeared before him.

"Cortelyou's is the only place left in this city for a real high tea," Bertrand observed wistfully as Ethan helped himself to a blueberry scone. The young folks discussed their shopping experience a bit, skirting around any specifics about their purchases.

"I really like the way they shrink the parcels to fit in one bag," Alec said. "But I wonder if anyone ever forgot the counter charm?"

"Oh, yes, it's happened," Bertrand said. "But Cortelyou's has a team on call, ready to apparate anywhere if there's trouble."

"Hope they're cheerier than their dwarves," Ethan said.

Bertrand laughed. "Yes, Cortelyou's dwarves are an institution, you know. They've been helping dampen irrational holiday exuberance for over a century."

Anne looked up from her tea and raised her hand to wave at someone across the room.

Ethan followed her gaze and saw Peter Powles approaching, along with his sister Katrina, as well as a tall, blonde witch in emerald-green robes and a short, somewhat dumpy-looking wizard in pinstriped grey robes and a rectangular hat. Ethan guessed these were the Powles' parents.

"Hi, Peter!" Anne called. Peter looked over, gave a tentative wave and then looked nervously at his mother. A brief conversation ensued, then Katrina and Mrs. Powles continued toward a table on the other side of the room, while Peter and Mr. Powles stopped to greet the Ethan and his party.

"Hello, all!" Peter said. "This is my dad, Elfric Powles. Dad, these are some of my housemates: Ethan Lloyd, Tim Van der Meulen, Anne Findlay and Alec Evans."

"Pleased to meet you all―especially you, Mr. Lloyd," Mr. Powles said. "Peter speaks very highly of you, all."

Ethan blushed briefly, then spoke. "Thank you, Mr. Powles. And this is my great-uncle, Bertrand Belanger."

"Yes, Bert and I are old acquaintances, Mr. Lloyd," Peter's father said as he shook Bertrand's hand.

"Good to see you, Elfric," Bertrand said. "I trust you and family are all well? How is Ariadne?"

"Quite well, quite well," Mr. Powles answered. Tim and Peter were whispering to each other on the other side of the table. Mr. Powles continued, "Peter and I must go join her and Katrina, but it was good to meet you all!"

Peter hung back a moment before following his father. Tim, Anne and Ethan huddled around him. Alec tried to join them, but found himself blocked out of the circle.

"We're on for the day after Christmas," Peter whispered. "I was going to send you an owl, but here we are. So, meet me in front of the Natural History museum at 2:00, OK?"

Ethan nodded, then noticed Uncle Bertrand and Alec looking at him curiously. He decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Uncle Bertrand, we'd like to come in to the city the day after Christmas to meet Peter and see the Natural History museum. Would that be OK?"

"A curious way to spend Boxing Day," Bertrand said. "Your great-aunt may not be thrilled with the idea, not after your little adventure last fall, but I imagine we can convince her."

"Thanks!" Ethan said. "Well, see you later then, Peter."

"OK, Merry Christmas, guys," Peter said as he headed over to join his family. Ethan thought Peter looked rather glum as he sat down between his mother and Katrina.

"Well, we'd best be off to Brooklyn or Eilonwy will start to worry," Bertrand said, placing several coins on the table. These promptly vanished, replaced by a couple of silver sickles and several bronze knuts. As they left, Ethan noticed Mrs. Powles berating her son. Over the general din of the room he heard her say, "Not a word of this to Cassius and Calpurnia! I can only imagine what they'd think!"

Back to Vinegar Hill the Wunderground took them. Inside 13 Farrand Square, they deposited their bags under the tree, which was fully lit, the fairies still circling it slowly.

"We'll expand them later," Uncle Bertrand told Ethan under his breath, for Eilonwy was already ushering them into the dining room for what could only be described as a feast: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, mashed and sweet potatoes, gravy, creamed onions and numerous relishes. Over dessert – a trio of pies with a bread pudding – they broached the subject of their proposed visit to the museum with Eilonwy.

She frowned. "Manhattan's usually packed with muggles from the suburbs on Boxing Day. Why don't you wait a day?" she asked.

"Well, we want to visit the museum with Peter," Ethan explained. "And that's the only time he can make it into the city."

"We promise not to get too mixed up with the muggles," Tim added earnestly. "Just a bit in the museum, of course. They have a dinosaur fossil there that was found about 10 miles from my home, would you believe that?"

"I might just observe muggle behavior a bit," Anne said. "I'm thinking of Muggle Studies as an elective next year, if only so I can understand what these guys are talking about."

In the end, Eilonwy relented with a shrug. "I'm not sure why a dinosaur fossil would be so fascinating," she harrumphed. Then she looked Ethan in the eye and added, "Just mind, stay out of trouble or your parents will be furious."

Ethan thought about that as he tried to fall asleep that night in the big room on the third floor. Tim was already snoring. Alec was sitting cross-legged on a window seat, looking out over Farrand Square. _What if it doesn't work?_ Ethan wondered. _If we don't even get into the Brocklebank's apartment, we'll be fine. If Peter does get us in, that's when things will get dicey_.

He got up and walked over to the window next to Alec. The other three had decided early that Alec could only be a hindrance to their plans. There was no way they could leave him in Vinegar Hill while they went to the city. Likewise, there was no way they could imagine taking Alec inside the Brocklebanks' with them.

So Anne had volunteered to stay with Alec while Ethan and Tim took the _Mimicavoci_ potion and spied on Katrina and Simon. Tim had asked if she was sure; it was so uncharacteristic of Anne to cede an adventure to someone else.

"Well, of course I _would_ like to hear what you sound like with Katrina's voice," she'd said lightly. "But it may be just as dangerous keeping Alec out of trouble in the city."

Now, gazing at the bright holiday lights outlining the houses across the square, Ethan wondered about that.

"It's pretty out there," Alec said. "You'd never know it was as run-down as it looks during the day."

"Yeah, the muggles do a good job covering some things up, too," Ethan agreed. "You all right then, Alec? You look worried."

"Oh, I'm just thinking about mom and Madison," the younger boy replied. "This is the first time I've been away from home for Christmas."

"A bit homesick, eh?"

"Not really," Alec said quickly. "After all, I'm here with you all and your uncle and aunt and this city is amazing! I'm more worried about mom, she's all alone."

"But my parents are having her over tomorrow," Ethan said. "They said so in their last owl post, remember? She'll be all right."

"I hope so," Alec said. "Since dad died, I'm the only family she has – nearby, I mean. And also, I was wondering..."

He stopped.

"Wondering what?" Ethan asked.

"I was wondering, since my mom and all her family are muggles, whether maybe my dad's side had any magic in them."

"Maybe, maybe not," Ethan said. "They say magic can pop out of nowhere in an all-muggle family. You may be the first in your family."

Alec looked faintly disappointed. "I know that," he said. "But I'd feel better if I came from a magical family, like you..."

"That wouldn't make you a better wizard – or a better person," Ethan told him. "Look at Brocklebank – magic back as far as anyone can count and bad straight through. You'll be fine – because of what you do yourself, not because of who your ancestors were."

"I guess so," Alec said with a yawn. "Thanks, Ethan."

"Now let's go to bed," Ethan said. "Before Santa Claus gets here." And this time, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	14. Chapter 14: Boxing Day at Brocklebank

Chapter Fourteen

Boxing Day at Brocklebank's

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold. Ethan awoke to find someone tugging at his arm frantically. Before he'd managed to pull his glasses on, he knew it was Alec.

"Come on, Ethan, everybody's downstairs waiting for you," Alec said breathlessly.

Ethan threw a bathrobe over his pajamas and the two of them fairly flew down the stairs to the drawing room. The Christmas tree looked as magnificent as ever, orbited by candles, ornaments and fairies. An enormous mountain of presents lay piled beneath its boughs –all their parcels had been restored and many more gifts had been added to the pile. Anne and Tim were sitting on the floor, finishing breakfast, while Eilonwy and Bertrand sat rather stiffly on the straight-backed sofa.

"Merry Christmas, Ethan! You'd best get yourself some breakfast and bring it in here," Eilonwy told him. "I think we'd better get started on these presents soon or we'll still be at it tonight."

So Ethan went around the corner to the dining room, grabbed a plate, some eggs, bacon, croissants and orange juice, then hurried back to the others.

Opening presents took a surprisingly short time, considering the sheer number of packages. Alec, in particular, proved adept at rapidly unwrapping his gifts. He was equally fascinated by the pocket sneakoscope and the Wizarding Wireless receiver. Anne had given him _Quidditch Through the Ages_, the Belangers a wand care kit and his mother had sent several items of clothing, muggle and wizarding, as well as a huge set of Legos. Anne found the latter quite curious, for she failed to understand the attraction of building a castle that just sat there, unmoving. Alec also received, as did everyone else, a new tuque made by Tim's mom and shipped from Saskatchewan.

"She must have spent the entire Fall making these," Tim said, shaking his head.

Ethan's gifts to the others were well-received on the whole. Anne did look askance at him for a moment when she saw that Ethan had given her a book, but then she said, "_Influential Witches of the 20__th__ Century_, hmmm, that does sound interesting. Thanks!"

Tim's only complaint about the quaffle shot trainer was that he'd be unable to try it out until they were back at school. Eilonwy seemed quite touched by Ethan's gift of perfume ("How did you know this is my favorite?" she asked.) Bertrand thanked him for the traveling cape, telling Ethan, "Most perceptive of you to notice how often I'm on the road, young man!"

Tim had given Ethan a large book called _Landmarks of Magical Art_ ("You'll probably be in a future edition yourself," he said, causing Ethan to blush.) From Anne, he received a pocket foe-glass.

"I just thought it might come in handy some time," Anne said. "May as well know if there's an enemy out there―and don't tell me you haven't got any!"

Ethan looked it over curiously; there were a couple of distant shadows, but nobody distinctly visible.

"Well, that's good," Uncle Bertrand said. "We can continue the festivities."

It was Tim's turn to blush when Anne opened his present. Evidently he hadn't gotten her a book after all, but a necklace with a rust-orange cylindrical stone pendant.

"Why, it's beautiful, Tim!" Anne exclaimed, letting the light shine through it. "Thanks!"

"Umm, well I thought it would go well with your hair," Tim said, his face nearly matching Anne's locks as well.

"Is it magical?" Alec asked, staring at the translucent stone.

"I don't think so," Tim said. "At least the sales lady didn't say anything about that."

"Looks to be of goblin make," said Uncle Bertrand, taking it from Anne and examining it closely. "It is beautiful, indeed, and of exceptional quality."

After a mid-day dinner which was delicious but not quite as large as their Christmas Eve feast, Bertrand and Eilonwy retired upstairs for a nap. Their guests headed to their rooms as well, though Ethan knew he wouldn't fall asleep. He'd already begun to worry about the next day's plan.

"I hope I didn't get the wrong thing," Tim fretted as he and Ethan followed Alec into the room. Alec immediately settled into the window seat and gazed out over the square.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked. "She liked it―what more do you want?"

"Well, I hope she doesn't take it the wrong way," Tim said. "Like I told you in the store, I was thinking of what my sister would like."

"What do you mean 'the wrong way'?" Ethan asked, slightly irritated that he wasn't following Tim's meaning.

"You know," Tim said, his face again flushing. "Like it means I like her."

"But you do, don't you?" Ethan replied, adding as comprehension dawned on him. "Oh, you mean 'like her.' I don't think you need to worry."

Now it was Tim's turn to sound confused. "What do you mean I don't need to worry?"

"Well, if you want to worry, go ahead," Ethan said. "I just meant I don't think Anne's looking for, erm, a boyfriend yet."

"What are you two talking about?" Alec asked, momentarily snapping out of his reverie.

"Nothing, Alec," Tim said firmly. "Nothing at all."

The next day after lunch, Uncle Bertrand took them to the Vinegar Hill Wunderground station. He'd told them which station they wanted.

"Belvedere Castle," he said. "It's right in what they call Central Park, near this museum of yours."

"Is it a real castle?" Alec asked.

"Depends on what you mean by real," Bertrand answered. "The muggles call it a 'folly,' but our lot's found it very useful over the years."

A Wunderground car awaited them inside the station. They got on and, after the standard announcements, Tim said, very clearly, "Belvedere Castle." By now they knew to hold on as the car jerked into motion. They zoomed through darkness alternating with bits of underground Brooklyn, plunged under the East River and then beneath Manhattan. After only a few minutes, the car halted in another "W" station.

"Belvedere Castle," the Wunderground voice intoned. "Thank you for traveling Wunderground."

They exited the car quickly. Ethan checked again to be sure that he still had the amulet of invisibility in one pocket and the three carefully wrapped vials of _mimicavoci_ potion in the other.

Leaving the station, they found themselves on a snowy, rock-strewn slope next to a small castle. At first they struggled to keep their footing. Looking behind him, Ethan saw the glowing "W" fading from view on the wall of Belvedere Castle's dungeon.

"There _is _a path!" Tim exclaimed, pointing to their right. The others scrambled after him along a narrow trail that led around the castle above a small lake. The trail opened onto a drive that passed the front of the castle and led towards a busy street lined with tall buildings.

Cars sped past as they trudged toward the edge of the park. Clouds obscured the winter sun and flurries floated down on a gusty breeze.

They reached a major intersection where the park drive met the city streets. Diagonally across from them, an equestrian statue stood before a magnificent columned building filled several city blocks.

"That's it!" Alec exclaimed.

Tim and Anne started to step off the curb, but Ethan pulled them back just as traffic began to zip past them.

"Wait for the light!" he said. As Anne looked confusedly at the traffic lights, Ethan realized that neither Anne's Maine island nor Tim's Saskatchewan prairie had prepared them for city traffic.

"Wait until the light turns to 'Walk," he repeated. "And then make sure that the traffic really stops!"

A few passersby gave the group a curious stare. By the time the light did change, quite a few people were ready to cross and the four students were buoyed across in the crowd. A few moments later they crossed 81st Street and walked past the statue of Teddy Roosevelt on horseback to the museum's entrance.

Ethan looked at his watch. They had an hour before they were to meet Peter. He took out enough of the muggle money Aunt Eilonwy had given him to pay for admission and in they went.

Alec wanted to see dinosaurs first, so they all took the elevator to the 4th floor. Anne bemusedly compared them to the various dragons known to inhabit North America.

"That thing―what's it called, Tyrannosaurus Rex?―wouldn't last a minute in a fight with a Hungarian Horntail," she said dismissively, as a muggle family gaped at the in disbelief. "Though it might give a Welsh Green a run for its money. Still, if it doesn't even breathe fire, I don't know."

Sometime later, they'd found their way down one floor to an area filled with diorama of Plains Indian life as 2 o'clock approached. Anne had just said, "It would be so much more interesting if they would make them move!"

Ethan tapped Tim on the shoulder and pointed at his watch. Tim nodded and cleared his throat.

"Well, Ethan and I need to go meet Peter," Tim said. "Why don't you just keep looking and we'll be back in a bit."

Alec was lost in thought as he read the diorama labels; he didn't seem to have heard.

"Good luck!" Anne said.

"Try not to do anything too noticeable while we're gone," Ethan whispered to her as he gave her most of the remaining muggle money. As he and Tim left them, Ethan wondered again whether it had been a good idea to leave Anne―who lacked much knowledge of muggle life―with Alec, who tended to act without thinking. But there was no time to change plans now.

They walked out to the statue in front of the museum and looked about anxiously. At exactly 2:00, Peter came up from behind and said, "Hi, guys!"

Ethan and Tim both jumped about a foot, then looked rather sheepish.

"Sorry," Peter said. "Didn't mean to surprise you."

"That's okay," Ethan told him as lazy snowflakes continued to fall. "Is everything going according to plan so far?"

"Yeah, everyone else is at Brocklebank's," Peter said. "I have the note so you'll be able to see the apartment. I told them I wanted to buy a muggle magazine." He held up copy of _Sports Illustrated_. "They thought it was daft of me―even Dad―but he gave me a few muggle dollars before we left home."

"How far do we have to go?" Tim asked.

"It's just a few blocks down on the right," Peter explained, pointing south. "There's a muggle doorman at the gate. I was thinking it might be best if all three of us were under your amulet until we get past him."

So the three boys strolled down Central Park West along with dozens of New Yorkers. As they neared 73rd Street, Peter pointed at a massive, chateau-like pile of a building, 10 stories tall or more with towers at each corner.

"There it is," Peter said. "The Dakota, it's called. Built by a rich muggle years ago, back when this part of the city was as empty as the Dakotas. Lots of famous muggles have lived there. And the funny thing is that none of them have ever guessed that Brocklebank's great-grandfather had his own floor put in when it was built."

Ethan looked around for a spot where they could put on the amulet without drawing attention to themselves.

"Let's go over there," he said, indicating a disused-looking doorway down the opposite side of 73rd Street. The three of them stepped under an old awning before the door. Ethan slipped the amulet out of his pocket. He put one end of the chain over his head and then handed the other end to Tim―though had anyone noticed, it would have appeared that Tim had grabbed a gold chain out of mid-air. Tim pulled it over his head and disappeared. Then he repeated the process with Peter and all three of them were invisible to those around them.

Next Peter pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket and held it out so the others could see. Ethan read silently,"Cassius Brocklebank and family reside at The Dakota, 1 West 72nd Street, Floor 7 ½.

"Okay, let's go," he said.

They returned to the intersection and crossed, trying to avoid collisions with all the pedestrians who couldn't see them. Peter brought them past the building's facade and led them around the corner onto West 72nd, to a carriageway that opened in a courtyard at the center of the building. They passed a checkpoint manned by a long-coated doorman who paid them no notice.

The Dakota looked even bigger from within the courtyard, with the rest of the city shut out. Peter steered them into a corner and he slipped the amulet chain over his head. Then he led them to a door across the courtyard. Inside, they found a lobby with elevators. Peter pushed the Up button. A moment later, the bell signaled the arrival of a car; when the doors opened, a ruggedly-handsome man with wavy blonde hair and an exotic-looking woman wearing dark glasses stepped off and swept past Peter, nearly brushing Ethan's invisible left arm.

As soon as they'd entered the car, Peter pushed the "Close Door" button. Then he pushed the buttons for the 7th and 8th floors simultaneously. Ethan watched the two buttons move apart as another button marked "7 ½ " appeared between them.

Peter said, "OK, guys, after this you're on your own. I'm just going to try to stay out of the way."

As the car rose, Tim suddenly said, "You know, we've not really thought about how we're going to get out when it's time to leave."

Ethan realized with a sick feeling that he was right.

"Well, you'll probably be able to slip out if you're still under there," Peter said. "I'll help if I can, but..."

"We'll be OK. Let's just get going," Ethan said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt.

Peter pushed the button for Floor 7 ½. Swiftly the car rose, stopping halfway between the 6th and 7th floors. The cage-like brass door opened. A door materialized in the wall in front of them. Peter opened it and stepped into a hallway. Ethan and Tim quickly followed him as the door swung shut.

Peter headed down the hallway with his magazine, looking apprehensively into adjoining rooms as he went. Tim and Ethan followed him slowly. It appeared that the rooms on their left―parlors, a dining room and such―looked over the street, while those on the right―bedrooms and a study or office―faced the courtyard. The first drawing room they passed was devoid of people, but displayed various magical gadgets and machines. It reminded Ethan a bit of Flyte's office, though he guessed these instruments might not be entirely benign. He was tempted to take a closer look, but Tim shook his head and pointed the way Peter had gone.

They crept along the hallway; the distant sound of voices came towards them as they turned a corner.

Simon's unmistakable drawl met their ears, still some way off. "Oh, look, Katrina. Your brother found his way in after all. Pity."

Ethan heard Peter's father greet him and he recognized Cassius Brocklebank's voice as he chided his son. "Manners, Simon, manners."

Ethan and Tim moved closer to the voices and looked through an open doorway into a formal parlor with a large fireplace that was burning merrily. The Brocklebank and Powles families were seated around the room in a variety of stiff-looking chairs.

"Would you like something to drink, young man?" Mr. Brocklebank asked Peter, politely but stiffly.

"Yes, please," said Peter nervously. "Butterbeer, please."

A mug instantly appeared on the table beside Peter's chair.

Mr. Brocklebank and Mr. Powles were discussing politics, in particular some new regulations for the protection of muggles.

"Dithers should watch himself," Mr. Brocklebank said acidly. "He could go the way of Fudge, that waffler."

"Not that this Scrimgeour fellow's much better," Mr. Powles observed. "All appearances, no true wizarding pride."

Mrs. Brocklebank and Mrs. Powles sat in armchairs on either side of the fireplace, apparently discussing a sale at Cortelyou's.

Simon and Katrina sat at the opposite end of the room, whispering to each other but looking rather bored. Peter sat drinking his butterbeer and reading his magazine, staying out of all the conversations.

Ethan and Tim crouched near the door for twenty minutes or more. Just as Ethan wondered to himself how long they would have to wait, Simon cleared his throat.

"Father, can we go to the library for a bit?" he asked.

"Certainly, Simon," Mr. Brocklebank replied. "Be certain all is as you found it when you leave. I shall know if anything is amiss."

"Yes, father," Simon answered deferentially.

"Would you like to run along with them, Peter?" Mr. Powles asked.

"Oh, no, dad, I'll just read," Peter said.

Katrina snickered. Mrs. Powles gave her son a brief look of disdain and returned to her chat with Mrs. Brocklebank.

Simon and Katrina turned left out of the parlor, then right as the main corridor went around a corner. They entered a large wood-paneled room on their left halfway down the corridor. Simon went to the window, looked out the high windows, then flung himself into a big leather arm chair facing the fireplace. He took out his wand and flicked it at the hearth. Next moment, a blazing fire appeared.

Katrina had gone over to the window with Simon, but she lingered, gazing out over Central Park.

Ethan and Tim slipped into the room, going to their left, staying near the wall, out of the way. Ethan slipped two vials out his pocket and handed one to Tim. He unwrapped his vial, which was marked "K," unstoppered it and downed the contents at once. A bitter taste filled his mouth and for a moment he thought he would cough it right back up. The taste subsided, only to be replaced by a burning sensation in his throat. He felt as if his vocal cords were melting. Tim, who'd swallowed the contents of a vial marked "S," looked just the way Ethan felt. Briefly, Ethan pondered how it would feel to have Katrina's voice coming from his mouth.

Then Ethan felt as if new vocal cords were forming within him. When this feeling passed, he whispered to Tim, who looked rather green, "Are you alright?" But the question came out in Katrina's haughty voice.

"Fine," Tim answered, adding in Simon's drawl, "This is really amazing."

"Your worthless brother is really pushing his luck," the real Simon drawled. "If we're lucky, he'll be Cleansed soon."

Ethan and Tim pricked up their ears at this turn of conversation.

"You know, I'd like him a lot better time-frozen," said Katrina, who was etching designs in the frost on the window in front of her.

"Yeah, it would suit him," laughed Simon. "Wish we could help him along the way."

Ethan motioned Tim to move closer to Katrina. They found a spot beside a sofa that sat a couple of feet away from the window, but was out of Simon's line of sight.

Ethan took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. Katrina's voice said, "Hasn't your father given you a clue who's started the Cleansing?"

Katrina looked around, but before she could speak, Simon replied, "Haven't I told you a dozen times before? He won't tell me a thing; wants me to keep my nose out of it. But he must know more than he's letting on―the last time he'd just started at Kaaterskill himself."

"What are you talking about?" Katrina broke in. "I didn't ask you anything!"

"What do you mean?" Simon said, perturbed. "I heard you. What are _you_ playing at?"

A moment later, Simon's voice added, "Oh, I get it―keeping your nose out of it, too. Well, don't _your_ parents know something, too?"

Katrina looked confused, but she replied, "Well, all I could get out of mother was that the last time, a mudblood proctor died. So I'm hoping we get to that in the New Year...maybe that idiot Evans will be the first. Of course, father wouldn't say a thing, said it was 'unhealthy to drag out the past.'"

"Evans! What a complete fool!" Simon exclaimed. "Hey, since Lloyd's practically his personal bodyguard, maybe we can get two-for-one. I wish Father would tell us a bit more, so we could help."

Katrina turned toward the fireplace. "Yeah and maybe that Findlay will have a little Cleansing accident; what a disgrace to wizard kind!"

Beneath the amulet's invisibility spell, Ethan saw Tim's face turn red with anger and his hand slide to his wand. Ethan held up a hand and mouthed, "Calm down." Tim nodded but as he relaxed, he lost his balance slightly and bumped against the sofa with a dull thud.

Katrina looked straight at Ethan and Tim, though she saw nothing.

"What was that?" she asked.

Simon's voice said, "Just me, I bumped my chair. Aren't you getting a bit paranoid?"

Ethan motioned to Tim, pointing back to the wall by the door. Tim nodded and they hurried away from the sofa just as Katrina walked around it to have a look.

Ethan whispered to Tim, "Let's get out of here." To his surprise and Tim's evident shock, the words came out in Ethan's normal voice.

"Where's the other vial?" Tim whispered back in his own voice. Ethan quickly took the spare vial marked "K" out of his pocket and unstoppered it. He drank about half and looked at Tim.

"No, you take it all, I'll just keep quiet," Tim mouthed. So Ethan downed the rest of the potion, hoping they could get out of the apartment without further speech.

Katrina was now closely examining the spot where they'd been crouching.

"I'm not paranoid, Simon," she said. "Someone was here. Look at the carpet, it's all crushed down."

Simon got up and walked around to the sofa. "Your brother, maybe?" he asked.

"Oh, come on, Peter's too clumsy," Katrina said. "What about your house elf?"

"Zosky? He wouldn't leave any trail," Simon replied. "And he doesn't sneak around, either―well, no more than an average house elf. Let's check the room―I'll go along this wall." He gestured toward the spot where Ethan and Tim were now huddled.

Ethan motioned to Tim that they should leave the room., but decided to try to throw Simon off for a moment.

He said," Why not look next to the fireplace?" To his horror, the question came out in a perfect replica of Woody Harding's somewhat dim voice.

Katrina and Simon stood stunned for a moment.

"Harding, you dolt, where are you?" Simon shouted.

Katrina pointed straight at the spot where Ethan and Tim had been. "Whoever it is, the sound came from right there!"

But the two Bradburys had already rushed from the room, hesitating only a moment trying to remember the route to the elevator.

They ran back past the parlor, but none of the others seemed to notice anything amiss until Simon and Katrina rushed in, breathless.

"Someone's spying on us!" Simon said. Pointing at Peter, he added, "And he has something to do with it!"

"What are you on about?" Cassius Brocklebank asked, irritated. "Whatever else one might say about young Mr. Powles, he's been here with us straight along."

Ethan and Tim didn't hear the rest of the conversation, as they rushed down the corridor towards the elevator. Ethan could see the door now. In a moment they would be out of the Brocklebank apartment.

But when they reached the door, Ethan realized there was no doorknob nor any elevator button.

"Now what?" he whispered hoarsely, still in Woody Harding's voice.

"There!" Tim pointed up and to the right of the door at a wood panel that looked different from the rest of the dark walls. Just then, they heard voices at the end of the corridor behind them. Katrina and Simon had evidently decided to search the apartment despite Mr. Brocklebank's indifference.

Ethan grabbed his wand and tapped the panel. The door opened instantly. The two boys jumped into the elevator. Simon shouted. He and Katrina raced down the the hall towards the elevator. Tim pushed the button for the lobby and the door shut in the face of the two Tenskwatawas.

Ethan and Tim leaned against the elevator wall, out of breath. Ethan managed to gasp, "Keep the amulet on." Tim nodded.

The elevator deposited them back in the foyer. They rushed off, practically running into a family with two small children as they did. Past the doorman they went, not pausing or looking back until they were back at the statue before the Museum.

"What happened back there?" Tim asked in his normal voice, still whispering as they tried to avoid being run over by the passing crowds outside the museum.

"That must have been the third vial," Ethan said. "Remember, the one Anne nearly dropped? Everyone was talking at once."

"Can you imagine if we'd been caught in there?"

"No, and I'd rather not try," Ethan said. He glanced nervously back down the street towards the Dakota. "I hope they don't look in this direction."

Tim looked at his watch. It had been nearly two hours since they'd left Anne and Alex in the galleries. Ethan noticed that the snow had gotten heavier.

"I'd think they'd be out soon," Tim said. "Or do you reckon we should go in after them?"

Before Ethan could answer, he caught a glimpse of red-orange color moving towards them. It was Anne, who came up to the statue and looked about nervously. Right behind her came Alec, who looked uncharacteristically worried.

"They should be here," Anne said. "I hope they get back soon. We don't need anything else to go wrong today."

"Psst, Anne," Tim whispered. "We're right here. Stand in front of us for a minute while we take the amulet off."

While Anne and Alec screened them, Ethan and Tim knelt down and slid the amulet's chain over their heads. As they stood up, Ethan stuffed the amulet back into his pocket.

"Let's walk this way," Ethan said, pointing north along Central Park West. "Let's not go straight back to the Castle."

"Why, what's up?" Anne asked as they headed up the street. Ethan and Tim recounted the whole story.

"I was so sure that at least one of them was involved," Ethan concluded. "But we don't know anything more now about what's going on than we did when we left school."

"We know the last Cleansing happened when their parents were here," Tim allowed. "And we know someone died. That's something."

"So we'll really have to solve the mystery, then," Alec chimed in. "It's a matter of life and death. I wish you guys had told me what you were doing. I could have helped."

Only then did Ethan remember that Alec hadn't been aware of their plans to infiltrate the Brocklebank's apartment. He also noticed that they were getting covered in heavy, wet snow. There was a coffee house on the ground floor of an apartment building just ahead.

"Let's go inside for a bit," he said. "Do you still have some muggle money, Alec? You can tell us what happened at the museum after we left."

"We didn't really use any of it," Alec said as he turned over several bills and some change. Under the shop's awning they shook the snow off their heads, coats and shoes. Inside, Ethan found that there was more than enough for a cocoa and a pastry apiece. That suited everyone, although Anne confused the clerk by asking for a butterbeer first.

They sat down at a table near the counter; Ethan wanted to stay away from the window. Anne was moderately interested in the pop music playing in the background. "One of the top hits of the year," a DJ intoned before a song with a repetitive refrain: "I'll be there for you, 'cause you're there for me too."

"Not very imaginative, are they?" she said. "The Weird Sisters are much more interesting."

Ethan, who hadn't listened to any of his CDs since the summer, assured her that some muggle music was quite as imaginative as any wizarding band.

Tim looked up from his cocoa and asked, "So why were you rushing out of the museum?"

"Oh, that!" Anne said. "Nothing, really. Alec just had a little accident, I thought we'd best get some air. Besides, it was about time to meet you anyway."

Alec's face had gone bright red.

"Accident?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Umm, well, I didn't mean to, you know," Alec said defensively. "It just happened."

"What just happened?" Tim asked.

"Well, we were looking at a diorama about building the pyramids. And I was just thinking how much cooler it would have been if they were _actually_ building them."

"And the next thing we knew, they were," Anne explained. "Problem was that the Phoenician sailors in the next display sailed over and attacked them. Well, of course, the other visitors noticed that, too."

Ethan nearly choked on his croissant. "You did magic out of school in front of muggles? But how did you get away with it?"

"Well, I used that _Finite_ charm that O'Loughlin taught us," Anne said with a touch of pride. "The muggles were too busy gawking at the battle to notice. Of course, the dio-watchamacallits were still pretty messed up."

"But the Department would still know both of you did magic, wouldn't they?" Tim asked. "You've not gotten an owl or anything?"

"Well, they can't keep track of every wizard in Manhattan, after all," Anne said reasonably. "As I said, we didn't stand around waiting for the Memory Modifiers to show up."

"Memory Modifiers?" Alec asked.

"They work for the Department of Magic," Anne explained. "Whenever muggles have seen magic, the Modifiers turn up to make sure nobody has any recollection of magic."

Alec looked very glum indeed. "All I wanted was to see them really building the pyramid," he said miserably. "I'll never be able to go to a museum or a zoo or...a movie again, for fear of magic."

"Don't think that, Alec," Ethan said. "You're still just starting. The more schooling you have, the more control you will have." In truth, Ethan thought it might be a long time before Alec could contain his magic.

They finished their cocoa and headed back towards Belvedere Castle. As they approached the Wunderground entrance on the lake side, Tim put a hand on Ethan's shoulder and pointed. Two men and a woman were walking slowly near the entrance. The men wore cowboy hats, matching pink rugby shirts and tweed trousers. The woman wore what appeared to be a Victorian mourning outfit, complete with a black hat and veil.

"If they're not wizards From the Department of Magic, I'll eat my wand," Tim said. "Is there any other way to get to the Wunderground?"

"Couldn't they just be typical New Yorkers?" Anne asked.

"I only know about the stations at Hoboken Terminal, Cortelyou's and that one I found last summer by accident," Ethan answered, ignoring Anne's comment. "I don't even know where Stuyvesant's Alley is from here."

"Well, we could take the muggle subway, couldn't we?" Anne asked.

"I suppose we could," Ethan said, trying to remember how much muggle money was left after their coffee shop sojourn. "I don't know how much it costs. There was a station back at the corner near the museum."

So they trudged back out of the park. They spent some time puzzling over the subway map at the station but eventually decided to take an inbound A train to Borough Hall and change to an E train that would take them near Vinegar Hill. Next they muddled through buying tokens from the cashier at the booth. They let Tim buy the tokens since he was taller. Even so, he couldn't hear what the cashier was saying through the slot.

They found the inbound platform and within a few minutes a vibration began far to their left that gradually built to a roar. Preceded by a tremendous gust of air, the train burst out of the tunnel and into the station. Some passengers got off, then the small crow of shoppers, museum goers and store clerks boarded. Ethan and his friends found seats in the last car, near the door. Anne expressed some surprise that the three boys found navigating the subway so difficult.

As he studied the map above the door and train pulled out, Ethan answered, slightly annoyed, "Well, it's not as if any of us live in a city with a subway."

"The only thing underground where I live is a prairie dog town," Tim added.

Ethan counted down the stops with Alec's help. They said little and blended in reasonably well with the rest of the passengers.

When they reached their transfer point, they got off the train and followed the crowd to the outbound platform for Brooklyn. Here they let a train marked "Express" go by, because Ethan was unsure whether it made the stop closest to Farrand Square.

It was nearly 5 o'clock and dark when they finally stepped onto the square. The grimy houses and barren park had been cleansed and transformed by the heavy snow and Christmas lights. Bertrand and Eilonwy seemed relieved to see them. They all had hot baths and were allowed to put on their pajamas before supper. They told the Belangers as much as they could about their visit to the museum. Alec seemed ready to reveal too much on several occasions, only to be interrupted by one of the others. After supper, as they repaired to the parlor with its decorated tree, Bertrand asked Ethan for a word.

Bertrand stepped to the side of the hall, looked Ethan in the eye and asked, "Nothing unusual happened while you were at the museum today, Ethan?"

Ethan felt his great-uncle's gaze, paused a moment and answered, truthfully enough, "No, Uncle Bertrand, everything was normal while I was there."

Bertrand said slowly, "Very well. I wondered as we had heard on the Wireless that some Memory Modifiers had been sent there this afternoon. Seems some of the exhibits became a bit too real."

"Really?" asked Ethan, adding quickly, "Not while I was there." After one more searching look, Bertrand let the subject drop, much to Ethan's relief.


	15. Chapter 15: Fireworks and Friction

Chapter Fifteen

Fireworks and Friction

The last days of the holidays passed uneventfully. Before he knew it, Ethan found himself with his classmates aboard _Kaaterskill_ again, steaming north. As the sleighs headed up the steep road from the Landing to the school in the fading light of a winter afternoon, Ethan saw that the snow had really piled up along the Catskill escarpment. At one point, the drifts almost reached the floor of the sleigh.

At dinner that night, Ethan couldn't help feeling comfortable, back in the familiar surroundings of the Assembly Hall. Above, snow clouds drifted across the face of the moon on the enchanted ceiling. It was an odd feeling, Ethan thought. He wasn't looking forward to the inevitable homework assignments that would begin to pile up next morning like the snow outside. But he felt a sense of relief akin to coming home. Looking around him, Ethan wondered how many of his schoolmates felt the same way.

His glance fell across the Tenskwatawa table and there he noticed an unusual occurrence: Simon Brocklebank arguing loudly with Woody Harding, while Katrina Powles and Van Nort looked on in open-mouthed disbelief. Harding got up and took a seat at the far end of the Prophets' table, looking decidedly disgruntled.

Peter Powles interrupted Ethan's contemplation of the scene.

"Brocklebank still thinks it was Woody Harding spying the day after Christmas," he told Ethan. "As if Harding had the brains for it, or the motive. Katrina knows better, but she hasn't got a better suspect and Simon's nothing if not stubborn."

Ethan harrumphed. Tim leaned over and intoned gravely, "What divides your enemies increases your strength."

Ethan looked at him. "Did you just make that up?"

"Ern, no," Tim admitted. "I think it was an ancient Chinese philosopher, or someone like that. But anyway, if we have Simon's gang fighting among themselves, more power to us, right?"

"But we're no closer to understanding what's going on," Ethan lamented.

As it happened, nothing unusual went on at Kaaterskill as the Winter Term got underway. There were no new attacks, indeed nothing but classes, homework and quidditch practice. January slipped by without incident and only with February half gone was the monotony broken.

A few weeks earlier, Marcus and Kyle had begun operating some clandestine business, quietly taking silver sickles and the occasional gold galleon from fellow students of all houses in return for some mysterious service that no one―vendors or customers―seemed willing to divulge. Ethan had been only vaguely interested in what the two entrepreneurs were up to until one evening when Tim had spent a half hour whispering with them in a corner of the common room.

When Tim returned to the table where he and Ethan had been working on an herbology essay, Ethan asked, "So what are you three up to, anyway?"

Tim blushed briefly, then said, "Let's just say I think I know when we're having our fireworks show."

At this Ethan looked up from his parchment and said, "Go on, then, when is it?"

"They made me promise not to tell, but it will be soon enough," Tim said, adding nervously, "I hope Anne doesn't mind."

"Why would she mind fireworks?" Ethan asked, putting down his quill and looking quizzically at Tim.

"Oh, she won't, never mind," stammered Tim. "Well, then, I'd better get to work." And so he did, leaving Ethan to wonder what had come over his friend.

Wondering was all he could do, for Tim refused to discuss the matter again. Kyle and Marcus continued their business enterprise, whatever it was, and the dinner hour was a favorite time for them to deal with students from the other three houses.

One evening, as Ethan finished off his second slice of mincemeat pie, he notice Tally Gibson talking to her older brother and Kyle at the end of the Bradbury table, separated by several empty benches from the other students. This seemed somewhat unusual; Ethan had noticed that Marcus had tried to have as little as possible to do with his younger sister all year.

Ethan couldn't hear their conversation, but as an older Tituba boy approached them, Marcus laughed and Tally sprang up and ran from the room, evidently on the verge of tears. Marcus, Kyle and the Tituba student stared after her for a moment, then fell to their own hushed discussion.

"I wish I knew what they were up to," Ethan said to nobody in particular, staring absently down the table.

"They won't tell you unless you place an order," Anne told him. "And when you do, they apparently swear you to secrecy. And they say anyone who gives it away will be hexed in rather embarrassing ways."

"But come on, they're 2nd-years like us," Ethan snorted. "What embarrassing hexes do they know?"

"Well, I'd tend to agree with you," said Anne. "But it seems nobody's willing to call their bluff."

"Do _you_ know?" Ethan asked.

Anne gave him an incredulous look.

"Of course not," she said briskly, though Ethan thought she flushed a bit. "I'm not about to pay them to do some silly magic trick for me. It's not like I have a lot of spare cash to throw away."

After dinner, Tim headed straight to the library. Ethan and Anne were among the last to leave the Assembly Hall. The corridors were nearly empty as they ascended the main stairway. Ethan still recalled Standish's shimmering frozen form each time he passed that way. On this night, the splashing of water beneath his feet interrupted his efforts to banish the scene from his mind.

"Uh-oh," he exclaimed. Anne looked about apprehensively.

"There was water on the floor where Bram was attacked, too," Ethan said as he stepped out of the puddle. He saw nothing...no monster, no frozen body. The water seemed less extensive than on those other occasions, but Ethan could see that the trail again led towards the proctors' washroom just down the hall. On a closer view, Ethan saw a small parcel of some sort on the floor next to the washroom door. He walked over and bent down to pick it up.

"Be careful," Anne warned. "It could be dangerous."

"Well, it's...it's just a painting, Anne," he said, looking down at a cracked wooden frame not more than eight inches tall, its back towards him, the face down in the water.

"Really, of all people, you should know that some paintings are dangerous," Anne persisted. "And my father told me about a painting that forced you to look at it. One glance and you just couldn't take your eyes off it. And one by some Irish wizard that left all viewers dancing jigs forever. And..."

"OK, consider me warned," Ethan said shortly. But the little painting, cracked and damp, subject hidden, still beckoned to him.

Ethan took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully grasped the frame with it and turned the picture over.

"Looks ordinary enough," he said. The image was a portrait of a boy a little older than Ethan, tall with curly black hair, wearing school robes.

He stood, arms crossed, wand in his right hand, looking out of the portrait with a confidence bordering on arrogance.

Ethan half expected the painted boy to thank him for lifting the portrait out of the water, but he neither moved nor spoke. On the bottom of the frame a small brass plaque read "Hal Fagan" and in the bottom right of the canvas, Ethan read a signature, "H. Fagan."

"Hmm, a self portrait," he murmured as Anne knelt down to look. "He was pretty good. I wonder how he ended up here?"

With that, Ethan slid the small painting, now wrapped in the handkerchief, into the inner pocket of his robes.

"Maybe someone stole it from the Museum," Anne suggested as they continued towards Bradbury Tower. "You can bring it to Swope."

"Hmmm," Ethan mumbled. For some reason, his mind resisted that idea. Perhaps he worried he might be suspected of the theft; maybe he simply wanted to solve the mystery himself. In any case, he was sure he hadn't seen the painting in the Museum.

Later, in the quiet of the dormitory, Ethan pulled out the portrait for a closer look. As he examined it closely, Tim entered the room.

"Too noisy down there tonight," he said, pointing towards the common room. "I think I'll finish reading history up here. Say, what's that you've got?"

He sat down next to Ethan and looked at the painting as Ethan told him how he and Anne had found it―and of Anne's concerns.

"Well, she could be right, you know," Tim said. "On the other hand, it's done nothing yet and I doubt the curse would be on the frame, more likely the art itself."

"That's the weird thing, though," Ethan said. "It really has done nothing―he's not moved an inch since I first turned it over―just stands there in that exact position."

"Have you thought that it may just be muggle art?" Tim asked. "I mean, just because it's at Kaaterskill..."

"But look at him, Tim, he's dressed in robes and he has a wand," Ethan pointed out. "Maybe this Hal Fagan just didn't know the animation spells."

"Hal Fagan?" Tim said, looking more intently at the signature and the plaque. "I know that name. Hal Fagan was a student years ago; he won some award for service to the school."

"How on earth do you know that?" Ethan asked.

"I had to polish that award three times for Galvez," Tim said. "It was in a back corner behind all the quidditch trophies. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned once in fifty years."

"Fifty years?" Ethan asked. "Brocklebank said his father was here fifty years ago."

"And the last Cleansing began his first year, I remember," Tim said. "Too bad you can't speak with this Fagan guy. He might be able to tell us something about what happened."

The next day, Tim took Ethan and Anne to the trophy room. There they found Fagan's award, a small golden goblet with a shield engraved on one side. The inscription within simply read: "To Hal Fagan, for meritorious service to Kaaterskill Academy, 1948." They also found Fagan's name on a plaque listing all Head Boys back to 1812; he was on the list of Pre-eminent Proctors as well..

"Sounds like a bit of a teacher's pet, if you ask me," Anne said dismissively. "And you say he wasn't even a good artist."

"No, he was pretty good, really," Ethan corrected her. "He just seems to have forgotten to use _Accipite Mentis_ on his portrait.

"Well, let's face it, you're still the only one in our class who can do a decent job at that," Tim reminded him. "Not that I'd want any of my so-called paintings brought to life."

"Still, he sounds a bit like my brother Herschel," Anne added. "Head Boy, top of every class, insufferable know-it-all."

"Hey, being top of the class doesn't automatically make one insufferable," Tim said, sounding slightly miffed, as they headed back to Bradbury Tower.

The second week of February brought a thaw to the mountaintop. Drops of melting snow first trickled from the eaves, gradually becoming steady flows. The sun shone weakly in the clear blue sky, a harbinger of a true spring still weeks away.

Greenhouse Number Two had become a humid sauna with the weather change and the Singing Barberry bushes were thriving. They'd begun forming ensembles and making noises that Ethan found remarkably similar to the thrash metal favored by his friend Justin back in Madison. The students had become used to donning their earmuffs before they even entered the greenhouse.

"Now if only you klutzes don't manage to kill them," Crockett bellowed at them, "they'll be ready to go into the studio in a month or so. That's the time to start the Time Thawing Potion."

It had now been two months since the attack on Bram and still there was no sign of further monstrous activities. Ethan hoped that the increased vigilance of the faculty―who now took it in turns patrolling the school at all hours of the day and night―had discouraged the perpetrator. Tim even suggested that their Boxing Day visit to the Brocklebanks could have had an effect,

Not all amongst the student body were so sanguine. Jana Gerrits was still convinced of Ethan's guilt and relations between Harrison House and Bradbury remained frosty even as the snow melted outside. Likewise, the ghosts remained wary of Ethan, no doubt influenced by Natty Swarts. Whenever any ghost saw Ethan approaching, it quickly changed direction or flew through the next available wall.

On the way inside from a late quidditch practice one night, Ethan and Tim startled Natty Swarts, who'd been hovering around the entry hall. With a gasp, she flew straight up through the floor. Ethan shook his head, then noticed what had caught the Harrison ghost's attention. Kyle and Marcus, each wearing an enormous backpack, were retreating down the corridor to the left, which Ethan remembered all too well led to the Tenskwatawa common room.

"Hey, what are you miscreants up to?" Tim shouted after them.

"Can't stop to chat now," Marcus called over his shoulder as he and Kyle disappeared around the corner.

Ethan and Tim trudged up to the common room and soon after to bed. Ethan fell asleep quickly, dimly aware that Kyle and Macus were still absent from their own four-posters.

Sometime later, Ethan slipped into a dream, a vivid one the likes of which he'd not had for months. He found himself lying on a rocky path beside a stream. He was wet, his robes torn and dangling into the water. He felt as though something small was jumping up and down on his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw a trail of toads crossing him in an effort to escape the water. There was something whirling in the distance and as Ethan tried to focus, he realized that he didn't have his glasses.

He groped around the shore trying to find them, but his hand fell on something small and wooden instead. He gripped the object and brought it up close to his eyes. It was an empty, broken picture frame. Ethan scrambled to his knees and caught a glimpse of something sparkling in the water nearby. He figured out that he was seeing his glasses beneath the surface and that the small portrait of the dark-haired boy lay submerged nearby. He reached for his glasses, but as he did the silvery form of Natty Swarts floated up on his left and pointed an accusatory finger at him. On his right, Jan van Dam stared at him grimly. Flustered, Ethan lost his balance and slipped into the ice-cold water. He flailed ineffectually as he sank, the two ghosts still staring, the boy in the portrait beckoning Ethan deeper. Just as Ethan felt consciousness failing him, there was a tremendous explosion and he awoke, trembling, in a cold sweat.

Ethan was momentarily confused to find Peter and Tim also peering out of their 4-posters. Marcus and Kyle were still absent, but outside the sky seemed to be shimmering with unnatural light. As another explosion occurred, Ethan shook off the dream and rushed to the window with the other boys. Two huge Catherine wheels turned in the sky above the school. A third boom released jets of multi-colored light, which danced between the wheels.

From the stairway came many cries of confusion and excitement.

"Is it an attack?" Peter asked and Ethan immediately wondered, too.

"Nah," Tim said. "Look at the lights."

The dancing lights had begun to trace letters in the still dark sky. Gradually, they formed words in red: "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, KAATERSKILL!" A final jet of light traced the outline of a heart around the words.

Ethan could hear people streaming down to the common room. He and his roommates pulled on their clothes hastily and joined the throng. Everyone looked sleepy, confused and excited―everyone except Marcus Gibson and Kyle Stuart, who appeared composed and quite pleased with themselves as they sat on a window ledge looking out at the still-whirling wheels of light.

"Worth the wait, don't you think?" Marcus said as Ethan, Peter and Tim wandered over to join them, still yawning.

"This is what you bought at Cortelyou's way back before school?" Ethan asked as the words "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY" began to rotate above the school.

"Yes, of course," Marcus answered. "Naturally we've added quite a few of our own modifications, mostly thanks to Kyle. He's quiet, but deep, you know. Quite ingenious with fireworks."

He bowed towards Kyle, who gave them a small grin.

"And this is just the beginning!" Marcus said more loudly, so that the crowd turned toward him. "We at Gibson-Stuart Enterprises flatter ourselves to believe that today will be unlike any day in Kaaterskill's glorious history. To our patrons, our deepest thanks, and to the rest, please enjoy and express your gratitude to those who have subsidized our little morale booster. Off to breakfast, then...but stay on your guard, you never know when something may pop out and surprise you!"

Just then, a little flash of blue light appeared in front of Samantha Doxtater, one of the Bradbury beaters. From within the blue, a red heart emerged, emblazoned with a message that made Samantha blush, then throw her arms around a 4th-year boy next to her.

Similar fireworks popped up several times as the Bradburys made their way down to the Assembly Hall for breakfast. The halls were filled with students of all houses. As the groups mingled, even more fireworks valentines burst forth. Some were simple hearts, others elaborate bouquets of flowers, some with written expressions of devotion, others with musical or poetic accompaniment.

When Ethan finally entered the Assembly Hall, he hardly recognized it. The torches that normally hung along the walls had all been replaced by fireworks hearts. The plates and napkins were covered with pink hearts, which Ethan felt was really a bit much. The faculty sat at the head table, some stony-faced and disapproving, others apparently quite amused at the display. Cyrus Flyte's lined face was inscrutable, though Ethan thought he saw the headmaster's upper lip twitch a bit, almost betraying amusement.

Even the enchanted ceiling was part of the show, as the Catherine wheels still turned above the school and the "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY" sign tilted to face down.

"This may be the best-attended breakfast in Kaaterskill history," Tim observed as eggs and toast appeared before him. Breakfast was anything but a quiet affair as fireworks kept cropping up, startling both the intended recipients and anyone else nearby.

All day long, in fact, fireworks valentines continued to break out all over the school, even in classrooms, much to the annoyance of most of the teachers.

Not all of the colorful greetings were as well received as their senders might have hoped. As Ethan emerged from Ang Hsu's dungeon after lunch, he saw a glowing red heart flying down the corridor towards him. He ducked, but stood up again when the valentine stopped over Anne's head and went off, splitting into a dozen spinning hearts circling her head. Anne gave a little scream and tried to escape but the spinning circle hovered over her.

Ethan couldn't keep himself from giggling at the mortified look on Anne's face. He turned to say something to Tim, but saw that his friend had gone very pale. He was staring at Anne and looked as if he might faint. From out of the spinning hearts came a high-pitched chorus that sang:

_Her eyes are as blue as a parrot,_

_ Her braids as orange as carrots,_

_ Her courage I toast, to me she's the most_

_ the bravest young witch of the Maine coast._

"Well, that's not so bad," Ethan said as the valentine exploded in a colorful finale. "I wonder who..."

He immediately wished he hadn't spoken. Anne gave him a furious look, then glared past him at Tim, whose face had gone from white to bright red in a few seconds.

"Carrots?" Anne sputtered.

"But Anne...," Tim said weakly.

"Carrots!" she repeated, blushing as red as Tim had. "There's no need to stoop to petty insults, Mr. Know-it-all!"

She stomped away as Tim called after her inconsequentially, "But I like carrots!"

The crowd of students gathered in the hallway waiting to change classes laughed and chattered as Anne disappeared up the stairs.

"Come on," Ethan said. "We'll be late for Tiverton."

It was a long climb up to the Transfiguration classroom. Tim and Ethan trudged up the stairs in silence. As they passed through a group of first-years waiting for History of Magic, a burst of purple and orange light flashed over Ethan's head. In a moment, he was surrounded by tiny cupids, each one aiming flaming arrows at him.

The first-years stared as Ethan tried to escape down the hallway. But the fireworks followed him and he managed to trip over his own bookbag, tearing a hole in the side with his shoe. Books spilled onto the floor, as did quills, parchment, ink, and the portrait of Hal Fagan.

The fireworks burst into verse just then, with Ethan sprawled on the floor amidst his belongings, Shane Gonzalez, Tally Gibson and Alec Evans all gaping at him.

_With eyes as blue as the deepest sea,_

_ and hair the color of straw,_

_ he's a hero to me, forced Hafgan to flee,_

_ my brave Valentine without flaw._

Ethan vainly wished himself invisible. A sneering laugh came from in front of him. Simon Brocklebank looked down on him and drawled, "Looks like Lloyd's finally figured out where he belongs."

The fireworks disappeared in a purple flash. Ethan struggled to his knees, trying to stuff his books and supplies back into the damaged bookbag.

Just then, Kenny Sturtevant's familiar voice rang out over the laughter.

"What's going on now? You should all be in class by now. You, too, Brocklebank."

As Ethan glanced up at Kenny, Simon leaned down and picked something up from the floor. To his dismay, Ethan saw Simon examining the portrait curiously.

"Give that back to me," Ethan said firmly, looking Simon in the eye. Nobody was moving, despite Kenny's order.

"Touchy about your work, eh?" said Brocklebank, who clearly thought Ethan had painted it. "Losing your touch again, I think―it doesn't even move."

"Brocklebank, hand that over or it's ten points from Tenskwatawa," Kenny said sternly.

"All in good time," Simon replied lazily, showing the image to Harding and Van Nort.

"That's it!" Kenny said, but Ethan had already pointed his wand at Simon and shouted _"Wingardium Leviosa!" _ The portrait floated out of Brocklebank's hands and back to Ethan.

"No magic in the corridors, Lloyd!" Kenny said crossly, but Ethan didn't care. Brocklebank looked so disgruntled, it was worth losing a few points. As the first-years edged into Bancroft's classroom, Simon brushed by Tally and muttered, "I don't think Lloyd cared much for your valentine."

At this, Tally turned and ran past Alec and Shane through the open classroom door.

"Come on, we're already late," Tim said as he helped Ethan finish refilling his bookbag. Tiverton made a point of noticing their tardiness and docked Bradbury another ten points. By that point, Ethan was simply numb. Anne sat with Maddie and Melissa and paid no attention to Ethan or Tim.

Indeed, though the rest of the school seemed delighted with this most unusual Valentine's Day, amongst the 2nd year Bradburys it caused much dissension. Anne wouldn't speak to Tim, Tim and Ethan were annoyed with Marcus and Kyle. Anne remained on speaking terms with Ethan, who felt trapped between his two best friends. Peter felt altogether left out as he hadn't received or sent a valentine.

"Count your blessings," Ethan told him at dinner as a few fireworks exploded over the Harrison table. "You don't know how lucky you are."

The crankiness continued in the Common Room. Ethan made an attempt to reconcile Tim and Anne. But Anne told him, "It's nothing to do with you, Ethan. But I feel no need to fraternize with someone who just wants to make fun of me."

"Come on," Ethan urged. "He didn't know you were so sensitive about your hair."

"Didn't bother to find out, did he?" Anne said as she opened the History of Magic text and began to read.

A few minutes later, Ethan tried to get Tim to apologize, but Tim shook his head and said mournfully, "I'd only make it worse. She obviously speaks a different language. Anyway, I've got to get to the Library."

So off he went, leaving Ethan feeling disgruntled at the world. Soon he decided to go upstairs and read History of Magic in the quiet of his dorm room.

Before he pulled his book from the torn bag, Ethan had to remove the small portrait and noticed a tear in the canvas he hadn't seen earlier. His mood deteriorating further at this discovery, he pulled out his wand and tried a spell Swope had taught him a few weeks earlier,_ "Reparo Pictura!" _ The tear neatly sewed itself up. Feeling a bit better, Ethan set the painting on his bed and reached into the bag for his textbook.

From somewhere nearby, a cheerful voice said, "Thanks much! That was nicely done."

Ethan looked about crossly, but saw no one.

"It's just me," the voice said. "Hal Fagan." Looking at the portrait, Ethan saw that the tall, curly-haired boy had moved and was returning Ethan's gaze.

"I didn't think your portrait was magical," Ethan said. "Why didn't you move before?"

"There must have been a counter-spell on me," the boy said. "Maybe your spell interfered with it somehow."

Ethan thought. "You fell out of my bag this afternoon. Maybe that jarred the counter-spell?"

"Well, it must not have been much of a spell, eh?" Hal Fagan said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Ethan Lloyd," Ethan said, and he remembered all the questions he'd had when he first found the picture.

"Hal, you were here when the Cleansing started at Kaaterskill fifty years ago," he burst out.

"Yes, Ethan, that was a difficult time," Hal said. "A student was killed before the end."

"It's happening again, you know," Ethan continued. "Two people have been frozen already. Can you tell me anything more about the Cleansing when you were a student?"

"No, Ethan, I can't," Hal Fagan said. Ethan's face clouded in disappointment. "But...I can show you, if you'll join me."

Ethan knew immediately what Fagan meant and he hesitated. He had no desire to be trapped inside another painting. But his desire to learn everything he could about the Cleansing trumped his fear.

"OK," he said.

"Let's go back to a spring day fifty years ago," said Hal Fagan. At once, Ethan sensed himself being drawn towards the canvas, a rushing sound in his ears as he stood momentarily on the frame, then tumbled into the scene, landing at Fagan's feet.

As he stood up, Ethan realized that they were in a corner of the school's art studio. The airy, high-ceilinged room seemed familiar yet strange. It appeared that whoever was teaching art favored straightforward portrait painting, eschewing both Swope's brooding cityscapes and the bright, weightless landscapes that had been favored by Roscoe Skryme.

Fagan beckoned to him and they walked out of the studio into the hallway. As they did this, Ethan's mind was trying to get around what was happening.

"How did you do this?" he asked Fagan. "We shouldn't be able to go off canvas like this."

"An artist, I see," Fagan said. "You perceive that this is more than a typical portrait, Ethan. It's a series of memories committed to canvas...my memories."

"But how...I mean, I've never heard of a spell that could do this," Ethan said. "There's a whole world in here."

"Not quite," Fagan said. "But what exists here is rather detailed and accurate, if I do say so myself. But you want to know about the Cleansing...let's start in the Headmaster's office."

A wispy black fog enclosed both of them and when it cleared, Ethan found himself in Flyte's office. An old and worried-looking wizard paced behind the headmaster's desk as the moving floor carried a figure toward him.

Ethan saw that the visitor was Hal Fagan.

"Come in, Hal, come in," the old wizard croaked. "Please sit."

"Excuse me," Ethan said, "but where's Professor Flyte?"

Neither Fagan nor the old man replied, nor did they seem aware of Ethan's presence.

"What can I do for you, Hal?" the old wizard asked, folding his hands on his desk and looking at the boy solicitously.

"Well, Headmaster, I was hoping to learn whether the rumors are true," Fagan said.

_So this is before Flyte's time, Ethan thought._

"I am afraid so, Hal," the headmaster said with a heavy sigh. "This so-called Cleansing has claimed its first fatality."

"But sir, they're saying the school may be closed," Fagan said, sounding agitated. "You won't do that, will you, Professor Fresnel?"

"Hal, I am afraid that if we cannot put a stop to these attacks, the Department of Magic will insist that the students be sent home," Fresnel said. "It will soon be out of my hands, my boy."

"But sir, I don't have anywhere to go now."

"Ah, yes, after the unpleasant events of last summer, I know," Fresnel replied, wrinkling his brow. "You have no other relatives?"

"No, sir," Fagan answered, looking down at his hands. "Kaaterskill _is_ my home."

"The Department of Magic will make arrangements for you, I'm afraid," Fresnel said. "I am sorry, Hal, but it cannot be helped."

"But, sir, if," Fagan said, looking up again. "If the attacks did stop..."

Fresnel's wrinkled, kindly face suddenly tensed and he gave Fagan a sharp look.

"Hal, do you mean to say you have something to tell me about what's happened?"

Fagan looked Fresnel in the eye and Ethan thought the old man drew back slightly.

"Oh, no, sir," Fagan said. "It's just a hypothetical question."

Fresnel turned from Fagan's gaze, his original look of worry again etched on his face.

"Well, off you go then, Hal," he said. "Straight back to your dormitory now, my boy."

As Fagan turned to leave, questions overflowed Ethan's mind.

"Professor, excuse me, I need to ask you something," he blurted out. But Fresnel paid no heed, getting up and walking to the window.

The next moment, Ethan again found himself lost in the black fog. When the darkness cleared, he found himself on a lower floor of the school. Torches flickered in the dark corridor. A gigantic statue of a lizard dominated the hallway; Ethan knew he was near the entrance to the Tenskwatawa common room. He heard a door shut. Hal Fagan emerged from somewhere behind the lizard and walked purposefully down a corridor that branched off to the left.

Wand in hand, Fagan stopped at a door that Ethan was sure had led him to the Sphinx the previous year. Fagan, eyes closed, tapped the door in a circular pattern, then slashed his wand across the circle. The door swung in noiselessly. Ethan followed Fagan inside. No Sphinx occupied the room; no tiny door beckoned at the far end of the room. Instead, a tall, stoop-shouldered boy stood with his back to them in the far right corner, tending to something in a large cage.

Becoming aware that he was no longer alone, the boy turned.

"Evening, Beadle," Fagan said, holding his wand steady at his side.

It was, indeed, Erastus Beadle, recognizably unkempt and awkward even 50 years in the past.

"Hi, Hal. What brings you down this way?" Beadle asked guardedly. "Didn't I tell you it could be dangerous for a bit?"

"You see, Beadle, that's just it," Fagan said. "I mean, as long as it was just a private experiment, it was all right, but now..."

"What are you on about?" Beadle asked, turning to face Fagan, arms crossed.

"That girl died, Beadle, don't you understand?" Fagan said, condescension in his voice." "I'm going to have to turn you in to save the school." He pointed his wand towards the cage behind Beadle.

"Are you crazy, Hal?" Beadle protested. "Melgrath never harmed no one."

"Stand aside, Beadle!" Fagan shouted, a dangerous tone in his voice. He shot a spell at the cage. Beadle spun out of the way and managed to swing open the cage door at the same time.

"Melgrath!" he shouted as something about six feet tall and poisonous-green leapt out of the cage and out of the room in three giant hops.

Fagan turned to give chase, but Beadle grabbed his arm as the sound of wet, webbed feet faded down the hall.

Fagan wrenched himself freee and said harshly, "You fool! You'll be expelled, you know, even if that beast _has_ escaped."

Ethan desperately wanted to call out to Beadle, to ask him about the giant creature: had it really been an enormous toad? But again, tendrils of black fog descended on him and the dungeons vanished from his sight.

This time, when the darkness cleared, Ethan found he had tumbled completely out of the painting onto the floor of the dormitory.

He rubbed his left shoulder, on which he had landed hard, as he got up.

"But Hal, I want to know more!" he said, looking at the painting lying on his bed exactly where he had left it after he'd fixed the tear. Then he noticed that Fagan had resumed the arm-crossed, confident pose and showed no evidence of having moved.

"Hal! Come on, wake up!" he exclaimed in frustration.

"You trying to get that old thing to talk again?" Tim said, an unfamiliar note of disdain in his voice.

Ethan turned, startled. "If you must know," he said tartly. "It's _been_ talking. In fact, I've just been inside it, and I've learned quite a bit about the first Cleansing."

Tim's expression changed. "OK, tell me about it," he said eagerly.

"Not just now," Ethan said. "I'll tell you and Anne together, or not at all."

He could see Tim calculating the pros and cons of accepting this ultimatum.

"OK," Tim said. "She was still in the common room a minute ago."

"I'll talk to her first," Ethan said. "Unless she agrees, I'm keeping it to myself."

As he had expected, Anne instantly became interested when he told her he'd learned important information from Fagan's portrait. Her face turned sullen, however, when Ethan laid down his conditions for sharing what he'd discovered.

"Are you sure you can't tell us separately?" she asked, a bit plaintively.

"Together or not at all," he insisted. "Decide your priorities: continue a stupid misunderstanding or try to solve the greatest mystery in the history of Kaaterskill."

"Oh, all right," Anne relented.

"Great! That's settled," Ethan said. "Let's just wait until the room clears out a bit."

The last of the Bradburys, giddy or grumbling, finally headed up the stairs to the dorms a few minutes before midnight. Ethan then moved to an armchair before the fireplace and beckoned Anne and Tim to join him from opposite sides of the room.

Ethan felt a bit uncomfortable sitting between his two classmates, both still looking uncharacteristically sour.

"OK, first I want to thank the two of you for getting into a snit, otherwise I'd never have gotten Fagan's portrait to talk."

Anne harrumphed. Tim grunted. Ethan continued, "But now that I have, you've got to call it off, so we can get to the bottom of the Cleansing."

"Well, only if he...," Anne began.

"She's got to...," Tim said at the same instant.

Ethan held up his hands.

"Don't start!" he said. "Look, Tim has to promise to give up on poetry. And Anne, you need to promise not to jump to conclusions, OK?"

After a short, but awkward silence, they both shrugged and said "OK."

"Good. We can go on, then," Ethan said with a smile. Then he proceeded to tell them the complete story of Fagan's awakening and Ethan's visit to the Kaaterskill of fifty years earlier.


	16. Chapter 16: Ernest Dithers

Chapter Sixteen

Ernest Dithers

Epaphras Beadle had been the scourge of Kaaterskill students―raucous, misbehaving or simply spirited―for more years than Ethan had bothered to calculate. Griffin Lloyd had recounted for Ethan some of the scrapes he and his friends had gotten into with the school's custodian nearly two decades earlier. That seemed enough like ancient history to Ethan, but the incidents he'd seen while in the painting went back half-a-century. Given his reputation and gruff nature, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine him releasing deadly beasts in the school in his youth.

"That first night, when Standish was frozen, Beadle stared straight at me when he came up the stairs," Ethan recalled. "At the time, I thought he must have believed we'd done it, but now..."

"Maybe he was wondering if you'd figure it out," Tim finished the thought.

"Hmm," Ethan mused.

The trouble was, Ethan and the others had gotten to know Beadle a bit better than most and he'd seemed quite decent beneath his gruff exterior.

When Ethan mentioned that, Anne said, "Well, maybe he actually likes some delinquency now and then. Makes sense, as it seems he was no saint in school."

"Still, if he was responsible for the Cleansing last time, why is he still around the school?" Tim added. "I'd have expected them to send him to Autongamon permanently."

"Unless it was an accident," Ethan theorized. "Maybe he just let something loose accidentally and couldn't control it."

"Do you think we should ask him about it?" Tim wondered.

Anne harrumphed. "That would be a fine idea―not! You can't just walk up to him and ask if he's been setting deadly creatures loose in the school again!"

As it happened, they found no occasion to question Beadle and as there were no new attacks, the matter lost its sense of urgency. The Harrison students―even Jana―seemed ready to drop their suspicions of Ethan. Some even ventured to share a table in Herbology with Ethan and Tim. Crockett announced that the Singing Barberries were nearly ready for a concert tour, at which point the class would be able to harvest the berries for the Time-thawing potion.

"I need not remind you that this is more than an academic project," he told them. "I'll be supervising you closely before and during the harvesting process."

Spring Vacation arrived in late March along with a late snowstorm. Although classes were suspended for the week, nearly everyone stayed at school. The second-years kept themselves busy puzzling over which electives to take in the Fall. This was the first time they'd been allowed to choose any of their classes and each approached the decision in their own way.

Marcus Gibson elected to take Muggle Studies-"Dad says it will be right useful if I want a job with the Department"-as well as Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.

Peter tried to guess which classes his sister would take and then signed up for different ones himself: he finally settled on Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes. "Katrina's sure to take Divination and either Arithmancy or Rhabdomancy," he concluded.

Ethan waited to see what Anne and Tim would do before he made his own choices. Neither helped much. Anne tried to figure out which courses would be easiest. She decided to take three electives, which meant that she could drop either Magical Art or Magical Music.

"I wish I could drop History or Herbology," she said, but in fact they kept all the regular courses, Physical Education and at least one of the two "enrichment" courses―Art or Music. In the end, she settled on Divination, Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies.

Tim wanted to take all of the electives, but reluctantly settled on Divination, Magical Creatures and Rhabdomancy. He wanted to drop Magical Art, but Ethan convinced him to eliminate Magical Music instead.

"I still think I'll ask Bancroft if there's any way I can add either Arithmancy or Ancient Runes," Tim concluded. "Either one could come in very handy down the road."

"Either you're plain crazy or you don't require sleep," Ethan told him. "Anyway, don't change your top three choices. I'm taking those too and at least if you're there I can feel lost with someone."

When classes resumed, life at Kaaterskill took on the bustling air of a school whose students have just realized how little time remained until final exams and the end of term. Kenny, Jimmy and the other 5th-years were particularly harried as they prepared for their O.W.L. exams.

In addition, quidditch activity redoubled, for the Bradbury-Harrison match was fast approaching. As the days lengthened, Danny kept the team practicing hard at every opportunity.

Indeed, the only reminder that anything unusual had happened were the words at the top of the stairs which had resisted all efforts to remove them. While some of the teachers and many students expressed confidence that the danger had passed, Uriel Swope was not so optimistic. Ethan overheard him talking to Professor Crockett one day outside the greenhouses.

"Just how much of that potion will your singing barberries yield, Euell?" Swope asked quietly.

"More than enough for the situation," Crockett replied. "There's no need to be concerned. Even with these idiots extracting the juice, we'll have Standish and that boy back to normal in no time."

"I hope you don't waste anything," Swope said. "It would be pleasant to believe that's all you'll need, but..."

"Why are you so concerned, Uriel?" Crockett asked, an edge in his voice. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Perhaps, friend," Swope answered. "Nothing direct, you understand, but I do know something about magical paints, and there's no way that graffiti could have lasted this long if the original culprit has been vanquished or even if it's hibernating again. Mark my words, we're not out of the woods yet."

The whole exchange passed in a few moments but left Ethan with an ominous feeling he could not shake off.

Massive amounts of homework and nightly quidditch practices did push these forebodings to the back of Ethan's mind. Danny had the team well-drilled and optimistic about their chances.

As Ethan and Tim headed back to the dorm from practice the night before the Harrison match, they found the main corridor unusually crowded with excited students. As they made their way towards the stairs that led to Bradbury Tower, they discovered that the crowd was headed towards the wide veranda that looked out over the Hudson Valley. They joined the throng to see what had caused the excitement; once out on the veranda they could see that everyone was staring out towards the river, several miles away and half a mile below.

Peter Powles appeared out of the darkness. "Have you seen it, Ethan?" he asked excitedly. "Have you seen the Ship?"

And there, distant but distinct on the river below, a 3-masted sailing ship, aflame from stern to bow, was struggling upstream against wind and current.

"Yeah, I see," Ethan said as he stared at the watching crowd as much as the ship itself. "Looks like everyone can see it now."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Someone just said that Professor Flyte's apparated down to The Landing, 'cause they're all panicked down there."

"They needn't worry," Ethan said. "I'm the only one it's interested in."

Tim looked at him. "Maybe, maybe not," he said. "Hey, let's get out of this crowd. I'll bet we can see it from the Common Room windows. And I need to think..."

Ethan nodded. Peter followed them. They found Anne just inside and she joined the group.

"Well, Ethan, no one's going to doubt you anymore," she said breathlessly as the four Bradburys headed away from the veranda and up the stairs.

"I s'pose not," Ethan said, thinking uneasily of what new doubts might now crop up about him.

They reached the top of the Disconcerting Stair and rushed to the Common Room door.

"_Rheticus_," Anne shouted. The door did not move. "They can't have changed the password again already!"

"Ah, no, that's not it," Tim said. "Nobody's home."

Indeed, the Dutchman was nowhere to be seen. His blank canvas stared down at them. Ethan looked around at the other paintings lining the corridor. Their subjects had also left their frames.

"They must have gone off to see the Ship, too," Peter said. "And I'll bet there's no one inside either."

"Nothing to do but wait,then," Anne said glumly. Tim flopped down on the floor and sat back against the wall, looking thoughtful.

A thought came to Ethan. "There's a spell Professor Swope started teaching me last week that can summon a subject back to the frame. I didn't have much chance to practice, but..."

"Well, give it a try, then," Anne said hopefully.

Ethan pointed his wand at the empty frame, traced the shape of a shepherd's crook in the air and shouted "_Appello Dutchman!_"

At first, nothing happened.

"Well, it's the first time I've really tried it on my own," Ethan said. "I may not have it down yet."

"Just wait," Tim said. As he spoke, there was a faint noise down the stairs, like a low grumble. The noise grew louder and closer and finally the Dutchman stumped into the painting at the top of the stairs, swearing in his native tongue and glowering at the students. In another moment he was standing in his own frame, leaning on his blunderbuss and looking quite aggrieved.

"Which of you find it necessary to disturb my travels?" he asked irritably.

"It was me, sir," Ethan said sheepishly.

"Well, at least you learned the spell correctly," the Dutchman allowed. "Why do you need me? Surely you want to be observing the apparition on the River with the rest of the student body."

"We've seen enough, thanks," Peter said and Ethan noticed that his classmate was pale and nervous.

"We'd just like to get into our dorm, please," said Tim as he got to his feet. "_Rheticus_."

"Och, very well," the Dutchman grumbled as the door swung open. "They'll all be back soon enough, now the ship's gone."

"Gone?" Ethan asked before he crossed the threshold.

"Aye, it just blinked out," the Dutchman explained. "Just as you cast your spell. Good night!"

Once in the Common Room, Anne looked at Tim and asked, "Well, have you had time to think? Going to let us in on it?"

"Not yet," Tim answered. "I'm just playing with a few ideas. None of it quite adds up, though. Peter, are you all right?"

Peter had slumped into an armchair and covered his face. "It was bad enough when only Ethan and Alec could see it," he said. "And then Simon...but now, everyone's seen it. Something really bad's going to happen, I just know it."

"But Peter, I first saw the ship months ago and nothing awful's happened to me," Ethan said gently. "I mean, apart from half the school believing I'm Cleansing Kaaterskill of muggle-borns. You said it yourself, it's just a story mothers tell to make their kids behave."

"I hope so," Peter said doubtfully.

"Anyway, I'm going up to bed before the crowds get here," Tim said. "We've got a match tomorrow, we'd better get some sleep."

Ethan and Peter also headed up, leaving Anne alone before the fireplace. Not much later, though Ethan had begun to doze, he heard the low din of excited voices drifting up from the Common Room that indicated the rest of the Bradburys had returned. Before he fell asleep, he was vaguely aware of Peter shivering in his bed and Tim sitting up reading on his 4-poster.

The next thing Ethan knew, Tim was shaking him back into consciousness in the gray light of dawn.

"Ethan, wake up!" he whispered urgently. "Come on, it's important."

"Too early," Ethan muttered. "Not time for quidditch yet. Go back to sleep."

"Ethan, I'm serious," Tim persisted. "Someone's been through your stuff!"

"What?" Ethan opened his eyes and sat up on the bed. "Whad'ya mean?"

"Well, look under the bed," Tim said. "There's stuff from your trunk spread all over the place."

Now fully awake and alarmed, Ethan started pulling clothes, quills, parchment and all manner of other supplies from the floor under his bed. Then he opened his trunk and began feeling around inside it in the dim but growing light. To his relief, he found his amulet of invisibility quickly.

After he'd finished rummaging around, he turned to Tim and said, "There's just one thing missing."

"Let me guess," said Tim. "The portrait of Harry Fagan."

"Yeah, how did you know?" Ethan asked.

"Just part of a theory," Tim said enigmatically. "I don't think this was done overnight...probably when everyone was out looking at the Phantom Ship."

"Whoever it was, they must have heard us coming in and swept the mess under the bed," Ethan said. "I was way too tired to notice last night."

As yet, none of the other boys had stirred. Suddenly, from across the room, Ethan heard a voice he recognized, rasping "Freeze you...take you...kill you." He rushed over and peered into the bathroom. Tim followed quickly.

"Did you hear that?" Ethan asked. "That voice again...from the stairs, the night we found Standish."

"No, I didn't hear a thing," Tim said and still none of their classmates had stirred. "But something's just begun to make sense. I've got to run to the Library for a bit. I'll see you before the match."

"The Library?" Ethan asked. "Isn't it a tad early?" But Tim was already out the door and on his way down the stairs.

At breakfast, Ethan told Anne about the bizarre occurrences that had come with the dawn.

"So you're saying someone was in the dorm rifling through your trunk while we were waiting for the Dutchman to show up?" she asked him.

"That's the only explanation we could come up with," Ethan said. "Tim acted as if he knows more, but he's in the Library, apparently. I wish he'd show up, I need to ask him some questions."

"Well, you know Tim," Anne said with a laugh. "When in doubt, go to the Library. But, back to your trunk...whoever did it must be a Bradbury. How else could they have gotten in?"

"Gosh, you're right, of course," Ethan said. "I hadn't thought of that. Too bad we don't know who wasn't on the veranda watching the Ship."

The time came for Ethan and the rest of the quidditch players to head out to the lockers and still Tim had not appeared.

Danny Dewin looked around the locker room. "Where's Van der Meulen got to, anyway, Lloyd?" he snorted. "If he doesn't show up in five minutes, I'll have to see if I can use Cullen."

Beyond the lockers, Ethan heard the sounds of the spectators crowding into the stands. The butterflies in his stomach, normal before a match, were doubled by his growing anxiety about Tim.

Danny was about to send Kenny to look for Gervase Cullen and ask him to substitute when Herodotus Bancroft swept into the room in his shimmering purple robes.

"Dewin, the match has been called off," he said shortly. "You and your team must return to the Common Room immediately."

"Called off?" Danny protested. "But you can't be serious. We're going to crush the Harrisons, sir. This is the year we can take it all."

"I'm sorry, but I'm quite serious, Mr. Dewing," Bancroft replied. "There's been another attack and everyone must return to their dormitories."

As the players looked at each other in shock, Bancroft started to leave. Then he paused and glanced at Ethan. "You, Mr. Lloyd, you had better come with me."

Bancroft hurried from the locker room, Ethan running to keep up with him. They cut through the crowd of confused students streaming back from the quidditch field to the school building.

"Ethan!" Anne's voice reached him over the sounds of the crowd. "What's going on?"

"I don't really know," Ethan called back. "Come with us!"

Bancroft halted, turned to Anne and beckoned, "Yes, Miss Findlay, I think you should come along, too."

Anne, looking pale and worried, joined them. Bancroft redoubled his pace. They reached the main door before anyone else. Bancroft marched up the stairs.

Finally pausing at the Infirmary door, Bancroft looked at them gravely and said "Now, I'm afraid this may come as a bit of a shock to you."

He opened the door. Ethan immediately saw that there were three more beds next to those that held the frozen forms of Standish and Bram Rozema. Bancroft led them to the first of these and drew back the curtain. Anne gasped, then burst into tears. Ethan stared and his heart sank as he saw Tim lying immobile on the bed, the outline of his body flickering indistinctly. He still gripped a magnifying glass in one hand and his wand in the other. His eyes stared ahead, unseeing.

"Who else?" Ethan asked, numb. Bancroft pulled back the adjacent curtain to reveal Jimmy Sprague, the Bradbury proctor, also frozen and flickering, holding his wand and a large lantern.

"The third victim is a 6th-year Tituba, Amy Sutcliffe, a proctor," Bancroft added. "They were found together in the hall outside the Library. Do either of you have any idea what Mr. Van der Meulen or the others were doing up there so early?"

"He just said that something had begun to make sense and he wanted to check something in the Library," Ethan reported. "He didn't say what."

"Do you know why he would have had the magnifying glass with him?"

"No, sir," Ethan replied. Anne shook her head mutely, her eyes flecked with tears.

"Well, then, I had better bring you back to Bradbury Tower," Bancroft said. "Nurse Abernathy will take good care of them and Professor Crockett's potions will revive them soon, I trust. Meanwhile, I had better bring you back to Bradbury Tower. I shall have to address the house in any case."

"The faculty will now focus all our effort on allowing you to complete the school in safety," Bancroft told the students crowded into the Common Room. "To ensure this, the Headmaster has issued a number of extraordinary procedures that we must all follow without fail. First, curfew will be at six o'clock each evening. All students must be in their Common Rooms or dorm rooms by that time. Naturally, no evening activities will be allowed. Quidditch practices and matches are canceled, although physical education classes will continue. I will escort you down to breakfast each morning with the help of the proctors. A teacher will escort you between classes. No one is to use the restrooms outside their houses unless escorted by a teacher."

Bancroft rolled up the scroll from which he had been reading.

"As I have said, these are extraordinary measures for extraordinary times. I doubt I need to add that unless the culprit behind the attacks is apprehended the Board may have to close the school altogether." Here his voice shook a bit. "Anyone with any information ought to come forward promptly. Meantime, observer the new rules! Your lives may depend on it!"

With that, Bancroft turned, opened the door and slipped into the hall. At once, a dozen conversations started up around the room.

"Maybe they should start with the Prophet's House," Nick Cooper, one of Jimmy Sprague's classmates, said loudly. "In case no one's noticed, two Bradburys, a Harrison and a Tituba have been attacked, but no Tenskwatawas. Hrothgar founded their house and the Cleansing was his idea, if the old stories are true."

Murmurs of assent followed Nick's remarks. Ethan said nothing. The first years were chattering away at a nearby table―all but Tally Gibson, who stared off at the window as her classmates shared their theories.

That evening, Ethan went to bed early, unable to bear the collective gloom of the Common Room, but he couldn't sleep. Tim's flickering, frozen form floated before him when he closed his eyes. How could they solve the mystery without Tim's quick mind and indefatigable research? What had his friend begun to understand that morning?

As these thoughts raced through Ethan's waking mind, he heard a sharp tapping at the window between his bed and Tim's empty four-poster. He looked up and saw Bucky the barn owl on the ledge, looking at him expectantly. Another bird―definitely not an owl perched next to him.

Ethan opened the window. Bucky fluttered in and landed in his open cage. The other bird hopped in as well and now Ethan recognized Manfred, Mr. Beadle's pet crow.

"What do you want, now?" Ethan whispered. Manfred stuck out one leg and Ethan saw a small note tied to it. He quickly untied and unrolled it, then read: "Ethan – Come see me tomorrow. It's important. E. Beadle."

Ethan wondered whether a visit to Beadle would be wise. But he felt he had to talk to the custodian about what he'd seen in Fagan's painting. Next he wondered how he would get to Beadle's basement lodgings with the new escort system, but then he remembered his amulet.

He grabbed a quill and an inkwell from his bedside table, scrawled "I'll be there. E.L." on Beadle's note and tied it back onto Manfred's leg. The crow gave him a sharp look with his beady eyes, then launched himself back into the night. Ethan shut the window and grabbed a bit of roast beef he'd saved from dinner and tossed it into Bucky's cage. The owl caught it in mid-air and swallowed it, giving Ethan a grateful click of his beak.

Next morning at breakfast, Ethan told Anne about Manfred's visit.

"Do you think it's safe?" she said quietly. "Maybe he's just planning to get you out of the way, too."

"Don't think I haven't wondered about that," Ethan replied. "But I still don't think Beadle's done anything intentional. And if anyone knows what happened last time, it would be him. He might be able to help us figure out where the attacker's coming from. I just have to talk to him."

"Well, if you go, I'm going with you," Anne said, with some the old bravado in her voice. "It'll be safer with two of us."

Ethan didn't try to dissuade her. "OK, after art class, we'll go. There's an alcove just down the hall from there, we can put on the amulet there."

And so, late that afternoon, the two of them stood in the alcove behind a statue of a colonial witch, out of sight of their classmates, who were being led back to their common rooms by Uriel Swope.

Ethan nervously fingered the amulet. He removed it from his pocket and drew its chain around Anne and then himself. They scuttled along, trying to avoid the students being herded from place to place and the teachers and ghosts who were patrolling the corridors. Down they went to the first floor, working their way toward the Entry Hall. Near the front door, they just missed bumping into Professor Tiverton, who looked about suspiciously at a wisp of breeze that had apparently come from nowhere.

They reached the door that led to Beadle's basement quarters and headed down the spiral stairs to his office.

At the foot of the stairs, Ethan pulled the amulet off and stowed it back in his pocket.

Torches lit the area outside the caretaker's office. The office door was closed. Ethan raised his hand, paused, then knocked twice.

A moment later, the door opened a crack. Ethan saw Beadle peering out suspiciously at them.

"Ah, so it's you," he said, opening the door wide. He held an old blunderbuss in his right hand. "I thought maybe..."

Anne stared at the antique gun. "What are you doing with that?"

"This? Oh, I just wanted to be safe..." Beadle began. "Well, never mind, come on in."

Ethan met Anne's worried glance for a moment, then stepped into the office.

Beadle walked straight through the office and into his parlor beyond, beckoning the students to follow. "Come, have a spot of tea with me," he said.

The parlor was a dim, low-ceilinged room with a large fireplace at one end and several old chairs in varying states of repair scattered about. Manfred sat on a perch that extended from one side of the mantel.

Beadle seemed distracted. He pulled three mugs from a cupboard next to the fireplace, set them on a low table, took a kettle from over the fire and proceeded to pour tea on the hearth.

"Are you okay, Mr. Beadle?" Anne asked.

"Fine, fine," he muttered as he at last managed to fill the mugs with tea. "Just a bit clumsy today. Do take a seat."

Anne and Ethan carefully sat down, uncertain whether the chairs would hold them. Beadle gave them each a mugh and offered them a plate of hard-looking scones. Ethan politely took one and said as non-chalantly as possible, "So, you must have heard about Tim."

"Yeah, I've heard about that," Beadle said. "I wanted to talk to you 'cause, well, I know you're the investigatin' kind, Mr. Lloyd, and I wanted to be sure you know a couple of things about..."

A sharp knock on the outer office door interrupted Beadle. He sprang up.

"Hide yourselves!" he admonished them. Ethan hastily set down his mug and dashed to the far corner of the room. He and Anne slid behind an old bench. Ethan pulled out the amulet and flung it around both their necks again.

A moment later, Beadle returned, followed by Cyrus Flyte himself, looking grave, and an odd-looking wizard, double-chinned with a bit of gray hair combed over a mostly-bald pate. He wore a painfully-bright plaid cloak and held a top hat in his left hand. He looked around Beadle's parlor as he caught his breath.

Anne grabbed Ethan's arm and whispered in his ear, "Do you know who that is? My brother has his picture on his office wall in the city. That's the Secretary of Magic, Ernest Dithers!"

Ethan put a finger on over his lips and watched as Beadle slumped shakily into an old armchair. He glanced nervously from Dithers to Flyte, who both remained on their feet.

"Sorry to intrude, Beadle," Dithers said in a distracted voice. "Nothing personal, you know, but with all these attacks, calls for action, I can't ignore the possibility of your..."

"Possibility of my what?" Beadle broke in. "I've never...Professor Flyte, you know I've nothing to do with any of this."

"Ernest, again I must insist that there is no evidence that Mr. Beadle is connected at all to the attacks," Flyte said. "Any action you take against him would be a grave injustice."

"Surely, Cyrus, you understand my position," Dithers said. "Inaction is unacceptable. I give you my assurance that Beadle will be released with appropriate apologies should he be proven to be uninvolved."

"Released? From where?" Beadle asked in alarm. "Not Autongamon?"

"I'm afraid, Beadle..."

Dithers was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the outer door. Flyte moved to open it. Now it was Ethan's turn to gasp, as the patrician form of Cassius Brocklebank appeared at the parlor door.

"Ah, Dithers, you're here as well," the elder Brocklebank said with a curt nod. "That will save an owl."

Beadle looked at the newcomer with ill-disguised contempt. "What are you doing in my apartments?"

"Beadle, please..." Flyte said.

"I've no desire to be in this dungeon," Mr. Brocklebank said with disdain. "I am looking for the headmaster and I was told that he was here."

"And what may I do for you, Cassius?" Flyte said amiably, his voice belying a cold determination in his eyes.

"Well, the Trustees have been considering these terrible attacks, Flyte, and―well, we rather feel you've lost control of the situation." Brocklebank produced a scroll from under his cloak and unfurled it. "We've decided to place you on paid leave, effective immediately. I think you'll find everything in order."

Beadle growled, "No!"

Dithers turned to Brocklebank and said, "Really, Cassius, I implore you..."

Unseen, Ethan slumped in the corner.

Only Flyte himself seemed unperturbed.

"If that is the Trustees' judgment, Cassius," he said calmly, sharp eyes still fixed on Brocklebank. "I shall certainly take my leave. You will find, however, that I shall remain in spirit as long as there are any at Kaaterskill who have the courage to uphold that which is good and true.

"Quite so," Brocklebank replied, clearly mystified. "Your noble sentiments will be recalled for years to come, I am sure. Well, I won't trespass further on your, er, hospitality, Beadle."

He swept back through the office. Beadle and Dithers stared after him. Ethan heard him tramping back up the stairs.

After a moment, Flyte spoke.

"Well, Ernest, as it seems Beadle and I are both leaving the school, perhaps you'll permit me to accompany the two of you now."

"Well, of course, Cyrus, feel free," Dithers replied. "I don't see what the Trustees think sending you off will achieve."

Beadle said bluntly, "Killings are what they'll achieve. The students won't stand a chance with Professor Flyte gone, sir."

"I appreciate your loyalty, Epaphras," Flyte said. "But I'm sure the staff will rise to the occasion. I'm far more worried about the quality of care the buildings and grounds will receive with you gone. In any case, shall we be off?"

He led the way out of the parlor; Beadle and Dithers followed. In the doorway, Beadle stopped, looked at the corner in which Ethan and Anne were hiding and said loudly, "Track the toads and you'll find out what's up. Mark my words, track the toads." He turned to go, Dithers staring at him, clearly perplexed. "Oh and someone'll have to take care of Manfred."

"I'll make sure it's seen to," Flyte said from the stairs. "Come along, Epaphras."

When their footsteps faded away, Ethan and Anne sat in silence for few minutes longer. Finally, Anne said, "He's right, you know. Without Flyte around, there'll be an attack a day."

Ethan said, "Well, like he said, we'll all have to rise to the occasion. We'll just have to work harder...for starters, we'll have to track the toads, like Beadle said."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Anne said. "Can we at least have dinner first?"


	17. Chapter 17: Tracking the Toads

Chapter Seventeen

Tracking the Toads

Any relief the residents of Kaaterskill Academy may have felt at Beadle's detention was tempered by the shock of Cyrus Flyte's suspension. The faculty – with few exceptions – were openly dismayed at Flyte's departure. Uriel Swope dismissed the Board as "a bunch of bloody fools" in front of his class the next day. Professor O'Loughlin, elevated to Acting Head, told the school at the lunch hour that she would be carrying on all of Flyte's policies.

Meanwhile, Ethan had temporarily adopted Manfred the crow, who had flown up to his window and rapped on the glass that morning. Bucky seemed happy to share his cage with the sable bird, though less willing to share the treats Ethan provided.

It was with some difficulty that Ethan convinced Anne that they should follow the clue left by Beadle. It turned out to be more difficult to actually follow the toads, as the school seemed completely devoid of the creatures.

Ten days had passed since Ernest Dithers' visit when they finally caught a break during Herbology class. This class had become especially subdued as two of its members lay time-frozen in the Infirmary. Crockett had even toned down his acerbic comments. The Singing Barberries had been harvested and Crockett actually appeared quite pleased with the students' work.

On this warm, spring day, he'd set them to pruning Swabian Sauna Vines, which was exceedingly hot work. Anne and Ethan were working with Edwin and Jana, who offered Ethan her hand before they started pruning.

"I'm sorry I ever suspected you, Ethan," she said sheepishly. "I know you could never have been involved in the attack on Van der Meulen."

Ethan accepted her apology without hesitation. Anne wasn't so gracious.

"About time, I'd say," she muttered.

As they worked, Edwin said, "I couldn't help but notice that none of the victims are from Tenskwatawa House."

"Yeah, we'd noticed that too," Anne said shortly.

"Do you think one of them might be responsible?" Jana asked. "Simon Brocklebank seems awfully happy lately."

"No," Ethan said shortly. Edwin and Jana stared at each other. Something small jumped off the vine they were pruning and landed on the floor.

"Just a toad," Edwin said, and he turned back to the vine. Ethan and Anne stared at the toad as it hopped towards the door. As they watched the spotted yellow-green creature, they saw that it was not alone. Unobtrusively, under potting tables and along the walls, a dozen or more toads were leaving the greenhouse.

Ethan's eyes met Anne's. She looked repulsed yet curious, almost eager. It was all they could do to finish the last ten minutes of class without rushing out the door.

Before escorting them to their next class, Crockett had an announcement.

"Because of your, ah, surprisingly effective work with the Singing Barberries―far better than I expected―we should be able to finish the potion to thaw the time-frozen within a very few days. Now, follow me."

The toads had all exited the greenhouse before class was dismissed. Ethan looked around as he passed through the doorway. At first, he saw nothing, but soon enough something jumped. He nudged Anne and pointed. She nodded and they watched as the line of toads moved away.

"Looks like they're headed toward the Haunted Swamp," Ethan whispered.

"Great!" said Anne. "Just what we need. What do we do about it?"

Jana and Edwin, who were following them from the greenhouses, eyed them curiously.

"Nothing, right now," Ethan said, paying no attention to the two Harrisons. "We'll have to go tonight."

They spoke little of their impending errand the rest of the day. Time seemed to crawl towards evening. After dinner they stayed in the Common Room, pretending to study until finally the last few Bradburys headed up to bed. Earlier that evening, Ethan had gotten the amulet from his trunk. He'd also told Manfred the crow to meet him later at the main door. The crow watched Ethan intelligently as he opened his window enough to allow the bird to leave the room.

Now, they looked around to be sure they were alone. Then Ethan slung the chain around his neck and over Anne's head. They headed out of the Common Room into the deserted hall outside. With Flyte and Beadle both gone, Ethan had expected heightened patrolling by the teachers, but there was no one in evidence. Even the Dutchman snored in this portrait. In fact, it seemed easier to get out of the school than usual.

The air outside was cool and fresh, full of the scents and sounds of late spring. Ethan and Anne moved away from the front entry and headed towards the greenhouses, hoping to find the trail of toads they'd seen earlier. Once out of the range of the school's lights, they took off the amulet. As they walked, there came a flutter of wings from above and Manfred alighted on Ethan's left shoulder. A moment later, Bucky landed on the other shoulder.

"Hello, there," Ethan said to the owl. "Didn't want to be left out, I see. We'll soon see what you've gotten yourself into."

"Hey, Ethan, do you suppose _they _could find the toads for us?" Anne asked.

"Probably could," he replied. "Hey, Bucky, see if you can find toads-a lot of them-heading away from school."

The owl looked at him for a moment, then flew off, followed seconds later by the crow.

Ethan and Anne moved slowly in the direction the birds had taken.

"Maybe they've all gotten to wherever they're going," Anne said hopefully.

But a moment later, the two birds fluttered back and then headed at an angle out into the lawn, towards Standish's cottage.

"Looks like we should follow them," Ethan said. Anne nodded half-heartedly and off they went, wand tips lit.

The two birds led them on into the darkness, flying forward, then doubling back to make sure the students were following them.

After about ten minutes, they'd reached the garden outside the groundskeeper's cottage. Bucky swooped low over the garden path. Manfred landed, strutting back and forth, looking up at Ethan with a loud "Caw!"

Ethan knelt and looked about with the light from his wand. "They're here, all right!" he said. There was indeed a stream of the little toads, hopping along just as he'd seem them do earlier.

"Where are they going?" Anne asked.

"Past the cottage," Ethan replied. "Looks like they're headed for the Swamp."

Neither Anne nor Ethan had visited the Haunted Swamp, although Ethan had skirted its borders en route to the neighboring Spook Woods on his detention the previous spring. His only recollection of the Swamp was the mysterious blue flames of the _Feux Follets―_the same creatures that had supposedly lured the young artist Pieter van Tassel to his death.

Ethan looked over at Anne. As she looked at the line of toads hopping away, she scrunched her face up in revulsion, but Ethan recognized a trace of fear in her eyes as well―fear of the unknown Swamp ahead.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get on with it."

Although the owl and the crow still flew along above them, the two students now walked along bent over, wand light illuminating the ground so they wouldn't lose the toads. Pretty soon they found themselves surrounded by tall grasses, the grounds squishy beneath their feet and the darkness of the forest looming unseen to their right. The toads seemed to be following a relatively dry trail toward the heart of the Swamp, but every now and then Ethan or Anne put a foot down in the wet muck on either side of the path.

When they'd gone some distance into the Swamp, Anne suddenly gave a muffled scream and pointed off to her right. First one blue flame, then two and more, sprang up in the dark. Ethan saw her gazing at the nearest one in fascination.

"_Feux Follets_ ," he said. "Don't look at them."

The toads streamed on between them, but Anne seemed to have forgotten them completely.

"That must be the way out," she said in a dreamy voice. "Let's go find them."

She took a step towards the _Feux Follets_ and Ethan heard her foot splash into mucky water.

"Anne, no!" he called. As she took another step away, he leapt over the toads and grabbed her arm.

"Ethan, let go!" Anne said irritably. "It'll be nice and cozy over there."

Ethan followed her arm as she pointed and for a moment he gazed involuntarily at the flickering blue flames. Now he seemed to see a dry, well-lit circle of ground bounded by the _Feux Follets_.

"Yeah, maybe we should check it out," Ethan agreed. He tried to remember why he was out in the middle of the night, but found he could not recall. He took a step toward the lights, barely noticing the splash his foot made as he left the dry path. Anne moved with him. They'd slogged several steps into the Swamp when Ethan heard an inhuman shriek in his ears and saw something black and feathery swooping around Anne's head. A sharp pain in his shoulder made Ethan realize that Bucky was pecking at him furiously. Manfred was trying to do the same to Anne.

"Get away, you stupid bird!" she cried angrily.

Ethan tried to brush Bucky away, but the owl persisted. At last Ethan was fully awakened from his reverie. He grabbed Anne's arm again and this time dragged her back to the path. She flopped down, nearly crushing several toads, and put her head in her hands.

"Ethan, thanks! It looked so pleasant over there, I didn't even notice what we were doing," she sobbed.

"It wasn't me, it was Bucky and Manfred," he said. "I was just as entranced as you."

"I can see how Van Tassel got lost," Anne said.

"Yeah. Well, come on, let's keep going," Ethan replied, reaching out to give Anne a hand. So they continued, their shoes and socks now sodden, following the trail of toads that stretched on deep into the Swamp. After another half-hour or so, they stopped again. The two birds fluttered down onto the ground and stalked about. Temptation proved too much for Bucky; he snapped up one of the toads for a quick snack. Manfred looked at him for a moment, head cocked to one side, then followed suit.

"OK, one is enough for now," Ethan admonished them. "Wait until we find out where they're all going."

"If it was my decision, you could go ahead and gorge yourselves," Anne said.

Not long afterwards, they found that the path began to rise steadily. On either side, now farther below, the ground remained marshy. Gradually, the expanse of dry land on either side grew larger. It was even darker here, as tall, dead trees surrounded the path.

As they made their way around a pair of derelict birches, Ethan suddenly heard a sound like a big rubber band snapping.

"What was that?" he asked. There was no answer. He turned to where Anne had been behind him; she wasn't there.

"Bucky? Manfred?" he called, seriously frightened. No flutter of wings, caws or clucks reassured him. He held his wand tightly, turning around slowly. There was no sign of his companions.

"Anne!" he shouted. "Anne! Where are you?"

Nothing. After a few moments, he heard something rustling in the grass off to his left. Was that a slight whimper he heard?

He'd just turned towards the sound when something wet and sticky slapped him on the back. He tried to turn but could not. He looked down and saw two enormous, webbed feet on either side of him. He tried to move his wand arm, but it was no good; something held it like glue from behind. It was all he could do to hold onto the wand as he was lifted off the ground.

Before he could make sense of what had happened, he found himself bouncing along the path, suspended several feet off the ground.

Soon, Ethan's captor stopped and flung him down onto marshy ground. Ethan felt as if suction cups had been pulled off his back. He felt little worse for the journey, but any relief he felt drained away as he looked around him. A few feet away, Anne was stumbling to her feet, looking petrified. They were surrounded by dozens – maybe hundreds – of toads. Nor were these the small toads they'd been following. They were enormous, the smallest the size of Great Danes, the largest much taller than either Ethan or Anne.

Before them squatted the largest toad of all, a great, grey, wrinkled mass, not as tall as some but so broad that it reminded Ethan of Jabba the Hutt, with two large pale eyes looking intently at the students. Ethan shivered at the sight of the gigantic toad. Then it spoke.

"What is the meaning of this?" it demanded in a deep, rolling voice. "Why have I been disturbed?"

"We found these humans wandering within our precincts, Melgarath. What are your wishes for their disposition?"

The giant toad shuddered as if too weary to deal with the interlopers. Finally, it spoke again.

"Let the young feed upon them."

The toad behind Ethan made a noise like a window shade being rolled up and Ethan surmised that he was about to be picked up again.

"Wait!" he shouted. "You're Melgarath? Beadle's friend? We've come here because of Beadle; he's in trouble!"

"Trouble? What sort of trouble?" came the rolling voice again.

"There've been attacks at the school again and people blame him, because of the last time," Ethan said.

"They're wrong!" Melgarath growled. "Beadle never had anything to do with the attacks!"

"Then...you didn't attack any one?" Ethan asked.

"Never! Beadle raised me from a tadpole and kept me in a closed room. I never saw the rest of the school until he was falsely accused and I escaped," Melgarath's voice rumbled indignantly.

"Then do you know what creature did commit the attacks?" Ethan asked. Anne had moved closer to him, trembling.

"Yes," Melgarath croaked.

"What is it? If we knew, we could help free Mr. Beadle."

"We don't speak its name," Melgarath said. "It is more feared by our kind than any other creature." The gigantic old toad fell silent.

"Can we go now?" Anne squeaked. "We'll tell everyone Beadle is innocent."

"That may all be very well, but I cannot let you leave," Melgarath rumbled. "As you can see, I have many hungry children. I have always forbidden them from harming Beadle, who raised me up from a toadpole, but you are a different matter altogether. Goodbye, my young humans. Never fear, the poison acts quite quickly."

With that, Melgarath closed his eyes and Ethan heard the sticky window shade noise again as the toads behind them prepared for a meal.

"Get behind me," he told Anne. "Back to back."

He turned to his left and Anne turned to her right, so between them they could see all of the toads.

Ethan's heart sank. There were at least a dozen toads in the front row, each poised to catch the children on their tongues and inject them with venom. It was hopeless. Ethan held his wand out, but he knew no spells that could help.

"Who gets the red one?" one of the toads asked. "That looks juicier than the other."

"I'll have that morsel, Garathga," said the toad who'd carried Anne. "Maybe if I'm feeling charitable, I'll share."

"Ain't that big of you, Marak!" the first toad replied. "Maybe we don't agree with you, what then?"

"Yeah," agreed the toad directly in front of Ethan. "What then, Marak?"

"Don't be quarrelsome now, lads," said Marak. "Perhaps there will be more as comes lookin' for them, eh? More than enough for all in the end!"

The other toads seemed to be considering Marak's words. Ethan had an idea.

"Let's keep them talking as long as we can," he whispered to Anne. He felt her nod behind him.

"Garathga's right, you know," Ethan said. "I don't like to admit it, but I am a bit on the scrawny side. Hardly a mouthful of meat for anyone as large as you."

"See, Marak, even the human agrees with me," Garathga said.

"Just a minute," Anne interjected. "He may be thinner because he's leaner and tastier. You don't want a lot of fat, do you?"

"Hmmm," the toad called Marak cogitated, then spoke. "You may have something there."

"I say we paralyze 'em first and then take our time to decide who gets which," said the toad in front of Ethan.

"Oh, no," said Anne. "I think you'll find that venom really gives us an off-taste. You wouldn't want that."

"Do you think we should tell them about the _you-know-what_?" Ethan asked.

"No, we shouldn't," Anne answered firmly. "It's secret!"

"You'd better just go ahead and tell us, or we'll poison you and be done with it," Marak said menacingly.

Ethan gulped dramatically. "You wouldn't really want to do that, Marak, sir. You see, we were given the _Anura Indigestianis_ potion before we came out here, just in case."

"_Anura Indigestianis_? Eh, what's that then?" Marak asked curiously.

"It's a potion that causes severe digestive distress in toads and frogs," Anne said. "You'd be spitting us up in no time."

"Uggh, why didn't you tell us that in the first place?" asked Garathga.

"It's a secret, we're not supposed to say," Ethan said.

"Well, it seems we can't eat them after all," said Marak glumly.

"Well, then we'll just be on our way," Anne said. She and Ethan began to edge towards the path.

"Not so fast," Marak said. "We can't let 'em go. Let's just kill 'em and dump 'em in the swamp."

The window screens started snapping again.

Now Ethan was ready to panic. As the toads advanced, he and Anne raised their wands. Suddenly there came a flapping of wings. Manfred and Bucky had begun dive-bombing the toads, who started trying to catch the birds with their enormous tongues. While the toads were thus distracted, Ethan and Anne made a break for it, but Garathga and a couple of the other toads made to follow them. At the edge of the glade, Anne turned, raised her wand and yelled "_Stupefy_!" Amidst a flash of light, the three toads fell, stunned.

Ethan looked at her amazed for a second. "I didn't know you could do that!" he gasped.

"Neither did I. Now, run!"

"Bucky, Manfred, come on!" Ethan shouted as they turned and dashed back the way they'd come. It wasn't easy staying on the path in the dark and soon their feet were again soaked. Worse, after a bit Ethan was sure he could hear something hopping behind them. As the sound grew closer, Anne suddenly stopped and turned around. Ethan sensed what she intended and stopped with her, although he didn't know the spell.

Soon a toad leapt into view, Bucky and Manfred harassing it. Anne steeled herself, waited until the birds were out of the way and again shouted "_Stupefy!_" The toad fell over the path, blocking it.

"Quick, go!" Anne shouted and off they went. This time they didn't stop until they were out of the swamp and back in Standish's garden.

They stood panting, soaking wet and partially covered in toad slime. Anne bent over and was sick in a patch of lavender.

When she stood up again, still pale, she said angrily, "Well, what good did that do us? Almost got eaten by t-t-toads and for what?"

"Well, we know that Beadle didn't start the Cleansing the first time," Ethan said quietly. "He was innocent then and he's innocent now."

Anne snorted, as if she didn't think that knowledge was worth what they'd just been through.

"And we know that you can cast a great stunning spell," Ethan continued. "Wherever did you learn that?"

"One of the few advantages of having a lot of older brothers," Anne said. "Tycho taught me over the summer. But I've not really tried it on anyone – or anything – until just now."

"Well, you learned it all right. That was brilliant," Ethan said. "I must remember not to annoy you in future."

Anne took a mock swipe at him, apparently willing to forget the danger into which they'd wandered. They slung the amulet back over their heads and managed to sneak back up to Bradbury Tower just as the first finger of dawn appeared beyond the Hudson.

Anne trudged up the stairs to the girls's dorm wordlessly. When Ethan reached his dorm, he pulled off his sodden robes, tucked the amulet back inside his trunk, collapsed onto his four-poster and stared at the canopy, thinking about everything Melgarath had said. So Beadle had nothing to do with the Cleansing, nor did he even know the name of the creature that was on the attack once again.

What could that creature be? If it struck such terror into giant, venomous toads that they would not even utter its name, how could anyone hope to defeat it?

Ethan began to drift into sleep, though he knew that his classmates would be rising for breakfast in little more than an hour. His mind passed feverishly over all that had happened since that summer night when Van Dam's ghost had come to him. The glint of the sailors' torches on the Hudson's waters flashed before his drowsy eyes, then the roiling waters of the river the day he'd first seen the Phantom Ship and gotten his scar. Next his thoughts flowed to his feet splashing in the water of the Haunted Swamp. Finally he was standing in the flooded hall where they'd found Standish and he saw water flowing back towards a locked door. Water, everywhere his thoughts turned to water.

He sat bolt upright, eyes wide. The proctor's bath. The girl who had died all those years ago had been a proctor.

"The answer's behind that door, just like we thought last fall," he told Anne at breakfast an hour or so later.

"That's great!" she said. "The one room in this whole school we can't get into. Even standing next to it could get us detention!"

"We'll find a way," Ethan said. "We have to."


	18. Chapter 18: Down the Chute

Chapter Eighteen

Down the Chute

Ethan and Anne soon realized that it would be far harder getting into the proctors' bathroom than it had been tracking the toads deep into the Haunted Swamp. First, there remained the problem of escaping the escorts who ferried the students from class to class. Even had they managed to slip away again, they faced the fact that the entry to the bathroom was on one of the busiest corridors in the entire school.

In History of Magic class that afternoon, they encountered a new challenge that they hadn't even considered. At the conclusion of their class on the role of magic at the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893, Professor Bancroft announced that he would be spending the next two classes reviewing for final exams.

A wave of rebellious grumbling swept the classroom. Evidently, none of the second years, Harrisons or Bradburys, had considered the possibility that exams would go on as usual. Edwin Malinowski raised his hand amidst the tumult and asked, "Exams, sir? How can we concentrate on exams when we don't know when we might be frozen, or worse?"

"Of course, we are all under a good deal of stress, Mr. Malinowski," Bancroft answered testily. "But surely you realize that the point of keeping the school open is to teach all of you. And the way we determine our success in that venture is by examining you at the end of term. If we weren't going to bother with exams, we should have sent you all home months ago!"

Ethan spent the remainder of the week torn between studying for finals and trying to solve the mystery of the proctors' washroom. At lunch that Saturday, he and Anne shared their frustration.

"If only we could get into that bathroom, I'll wager we'd be able to figure it all out," Ethan said.

"Well, even the proctors haven't been using it," Anne reminded him. "And suppose we got in and found...well, whatever it is, then what?"

"I guess I really hadn't thought of that," Ethan admitted.

Someone coughed. Ethan looked to his right and saw Alec Evans staring at him. The younger boy quickly looked away.

A moment later, Professor O'Loughlin made an announcement that caused Ethan to forget all about the proctor's bath.

"Professor Renfro has informed me that the thawing potion he and Professor Crockett have brewed from the Singing Barberries is complete," she said. "It should be administered to all of the victims this evening. By tomorrow, we may well have gotten to the bottom of the attacks."

The hall erupted in applause, which was followed by excited murmuring. Anne exclaimed in relief, "So that means it won't matter that we've not found out what's in the proctors' bath, Ethan! The teachers can sort it out once Tim and the others wake up."

"Yeah," Ethan said absent-mindedly. He was looking over at the Tenskwatawa table, where Brocklebank sat scowling with his arms crossed. "Someone's not as pleased as you, though."

"He'll have to adjust to the disappointment," Anne said. "You know, Tim is going to go crazy when he finds out he's being examined on stuff he's not even studied!"

"Oh, he's probably been reviewing the whole time he's been frozen," Ethan suggested.

Just then, Tally Gibson approached them from the other end of the table and sat down in the empty chair next to Anne. Unlike the other Bradburys, she didn't look happy or relieved or even pleased. She looked almost petrified.

"What's wrong, Tally?" Anne asked.

"I...I need to tell you something," she muttered, looking not at Anne but straight at Ethan.

"Go ahead, then," Ethan said, "It's OK."

But Tally remained silent.

Perplexed, Ethan leaned forward and whispered, "Does it have something to do with the Cleansing? Have you come across a clue?"

Tally took a deep breath and opened her mouth But at that moment, Marcus came up, slapped Ethan on the back and said, "Well, looks like we'll have Van der Meulen back for the last quidditch match! Tally, what will you and the other first-years gossip about now?"

But Tally immediately jumped out of her chair and ran back to the other end of the table.

Anne upbraided Marcus. "Your sister was trying to tell us something important!"

"Oh, I doubt that," Marcus said deprecatingly. "It's just more of that first-year twittering. Right, Evans?"

Alec had watched the whole exchange. He just shook his head, got up and headed after Tally.

"Well, this calls for extra dessert," Marcus said and he grabbed a slice of pie from the center of the table.

Ethan knew that there was probably no need for him to worry about the Cleansing with the thawing potion ready. Perhaps because of Tally's non-revelation, he spent most of Defense against the Dark Arts class running over all that he did know about the attacks through his mind.

As Ang Hsu led them off to Astronomy class, Anne asked him, "So are you ready for this exam?"

"Hmm? No, I expect not. You'll have to catch me up on the review."

Ang Hsu led them to a rendezvous with Professor Mickelson, who would pick them up and finish the trip to the Astronomy Tower for their next class. But something happened that gave Ethan one more chance to investigate.

The meeting place was at the head of the stairs where Standish had been found. As the group, they found Professor Renfro waiting to take the Harrisons to Potions. And Professor O'Loughlin had the 4th year Titubas to pass on to Ang Hsu. But Professor Mickelson was nowhere to be seen.

Ang Hsu impatiently tapped his foot as first O'Loughlin, then Renfro and the Harrisons departed.

Ethan spoke up.

"Sir, couldn't you let us go the rest of the way ourselves? It's not that far and it seems a waste for you to wait around."

To Ethan's surprise, Ang Hsu nodded in agreement.

"I sense that there is no danger between here and the Astronomy Tower," he said mysteriously. "Go then, but go directly."

He motioned to the Titubas and began retracing his steps to the dungeons.

As the Bradburys headed towards the Astronomy Tower, Ethan and Anne lagged behind. As the last of their classmates headed up the long flight of stairs, Ethan found himself staring at the door to the proctors' bathroom again.

"Well, now what?" Anne asked skeptically.

"How about some of those opening charms O'Loughlin was teaching us last month? Maybe they'll work," Ethan said.

Before he could try anything, though, Professor Bancroft appeared at the foot of the stairs. He took one look at Anne and Ethan and frowned.

"What are you two doing loitering in the halls?" he asked. "There's no guarantee it's safe yet, no matter what some say. I've just finished taking your classmates to Astronomy; apparently Professor Hsu allowed them to wander off without an escort."

"We were just hoping we could stop by and see Tim, Professor," Anne said quickly. "We've not been able to get in for ever so long."

"Well, of course, I understand your sentiments, Miss Findlay," Bancroft said. "I trust that you will soon have Mr. Van der Meulen back and as well as always. Still, I see no harm in letting you sit with him for a few minutes."

He pulled a quill and a bit of parchment from his pocket and quickly scribbled a note.

"Give this to Nurse Abernathy," Bancroft said. "Don't spend too long, now. I want you back in the Common Room after last period."

Anne took the note. After a quick thank you, she and Ethan hurried off towards the Infirmary.

"And what are we going to do in the Infirmary?" she asked him. "It's not like we can have a conversation with him or anything."

"I know, but it gives us some time; maybe we can try again on the way to lunch."

They knocked on the Infirmary door, which was locked. A small window to the right opened and Nurse Abernathy cast a suspicious gaze at the two students.

Anne handed her the note. Abernathy scowled and said, "Very well, but it's hopeless you know. He won't have any idea you're there."

The door opened and they found their way over to Tim's bed, where he still lay in the awkward frozen position in which he'd been found. His hands were still clenched as if still holding the magnifying glass and wand, which had been removed. Strange flickering light still danced around his body. The two of them sat on the uncomfortable visitor's chairs at Tim's bedside and looked on in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you suppose any of them actually saw what attacked them?" Anne asked presently. "I mean, if they didn't, we may never know."

"Dunno," Ethan said absently. He'd just noticed something yellowish barely protruding from Tim's left pocket. He pointed and Anne looked. "See if you can grab that."

She reached over and slid a piece of paper from Tim's pocket. It was a page from a printed book, ripped out rather neatly and folded, with a few lines in Tim's handwriting along the margin. She unfolded the page and they looked at it together.

"He had figured it out, all of it!" Ethan said excitedly, reading from the scrap of paper.

"_Michi-Pichoux, the water lynx, is responsible for many unexplained disappearances and deaths. Although it lives underwater, the water lynx comes ashore to feed. Any limb that comes in contact with the lynx's home waters will become invisible; immersion is thought to be fatal, although this is uncertain as no one so afflicted has ever been seen again. Those few who survive Michi-Pichoux's attack are usually left in a trance-like state; they may appear ghost-like and apparently they do not experience the passage of time. Intense light saps Michi-Pichoux of its strength above water. The natural enemy of the water lynx is the wolf, which appears impervious to its powers. Amphibians flee when Michi-Pichoux is near. The life span of Michi-Pichoux is uncertain, but may extend several hundred years._"

Anne stared at Ethan, dumbstruck.

"The monster is a water lynx," Ethan said. "There's been a trail of water around each victim. That's why the toads have been escaping to the Woods. That's why all the victims look like ghosts and that's why they're frozen in time, like Flyte said."

"But Ethan, why haven't any of the victims been killed? Why haven't they vanished?" Anne asked.

Ethan thought hard. "Well, Standish was carrying the Pumpkin Hunt trophy. That's almost like a prism, maybe it focused light on the water lynx and weakened it. And when I tripped over Bram, it was because I was blinded by the sunlight coming in the window in that hallway. If it was that bright, maybe that kept the water lynx from killing him.

"What about Tim and Jimmy Sprague?" Anne asked. "They were found in a dark corridor up near the Library."

"They found a lantern in Jimmy's hand," Ethan recalled. "And Tim was holding a magnifying glass. And both of their wand tips were still lit when they were found. I'll bet Tim told Jimmy what he'd found out and they were trying to create as much light as possible. It must have been enough to make the water lynx turn back before it could kill them."

"But how can a huge water monster be getting around the school without someone seeing it?" Anne objected. "And how's it even getting into the building? I doubt it's using the front door."

"Look here. Tim's written it down," Ethan said.

"Proctor...bath?" Anne read Tim's scribbled handwriting. "The proctors' bathroom, after all? But it's been broken all year. Jimmy told us."

"Exactly! And now we know why."

"The water lynx is coming in through the plumbing?"

"And remember, 50 years ago it was a proctor who mysteriously disappeared!"

At this, Ethan heard something like a stifled gasp around the corner. When he looked, there was no one there, but he imagined he heard footsteps scurrying away down the hall.

"Come on, let's go," he said. "Bancroft will be looking for us soon."

They hastily left Tim's side, dashed past Abernathy and out into the hall, where they immediately ran into Marcus Gibson.

"So you are up here," he said. "Kenny sent me to fetch you back. Been conversing with our frozen friends?"

"Very funny," Ethan snorted, then told Marcus what they'd found.

"We need to tell someone right away," Anne insisted. "Bancroft or O'Loughlin...either one would do."

"OK, so where will we find them right now?" Marcus asked.

"Well, last period's almost over," Ethan said. "One – or both- of them will probably end up in the faculty lounge after class."

"Let's go, then," Anne said.

The faculty lounge was just down the corridor from the Library, up a couple of floors from the Infirmary.

They reached the lounge before class ended and hesitated at the closed door marked "Faculty Only."

Ethan knocked, tentatively. There was no reply.

"Let's go in," Anne urged.

"Maybe we should just wait for them out here," Marcus said.

"Don't be silly," Anne replied, turning the knob and entering the lounge. The boys followed.

It was an odd room, with a number of beat-up green leather arm chairs on one side, arranged in two lines with one tall arm chair, ornately carved, arranged at the head. There were cubby-holes for mail on the far wall, a small kitchen on one side and several very small rectangular windows high up on the outside wall. To their right, near the kitchen area, was a huge, scuffed up wardrobe.

The three students walked around the edges of the room, curiosity vying with their apprehension of being caught.

"That must be Flyte's chair," Marcus said of the carved arm chair.

"The others look more comfortable," Anne said.

Ethan was looking at the kitchen area, which housed a small stove, a tea chest and a rack that held about a dozen wine bottles.

"Seems they do rather well," he remarked. Just then he noticed something unusual about the room. "Strange there aren't any paintings."

"Maybe the teachers really value their privacy," Marcus suggested. "But hey, we really should be waiting outside the room."

Just then there was a sound of heavy footsteps outside the room. All three students panicked.

"Quick, in here," Anne said and jumped inside the wardrobe. Ethan and Marcus followed.

"What good does it do us being in here," Ethan whispered. Through the keyhole he could see that Crockett and Renfro had entered the room. The potions master had flopped into an arm chair; Crockett appeared to be making tea.

Before the herbology teacher finished, Professor O' Loughlin's voice, magically amplified, filled the room.

"_All students are to report to their common rooms immediately. All staff and faculty, please meet in the Faculty Lounge."_

Ethan, Anne and Marcus stared at each other in the darkness of the wardrobe.

"Well, we have to stay here now," Marcus said. "Why doesn't anyone listen to me?"

"If we'd been outside, they would have just ignored us, I'm sure," Anne whispered. "This way we'll at least hear exactly what they're talking about."

By this time, most of the faculty had arrived, Professor O'Loughlin bringing up the rear.

"What is going on, Lydia?" they heard Bancroft ask. "Is it...?"

"Yes, there's been another attack," O'Loughlin replied. "And this time the monster's taken the victim to its lair."

"A student?" Terence Tiverton asked.

"I'm afraid so," said O'Loughlin, a bit shakily.

"Who is it?" Nurse Abernathy asked.

"A first year, I'm afraid. Tally Gibson."

Ethan stifled a cry. Anne clapped her hand to her mouth. Marcus slumped against the back wall and whispered, "Not Tally."

"Whatever can we do?" Abernathy wondered aloud.

"We'll have to send the students home, of course," O'Loughlin said gravely. "I'll have a letter ready for the parents shortly. Terence, Euell, please inform your students. Herodotus, will you find Miss Gibson's brother and contact her parents and then speak to the rest of your house?"

Ethan saw Bancroft nod and head for the door, followed by Tiverton and Bancroft. O'Loughlin and Abernathy left together.

The three students remained silent and motionless in the wardrobe until the last teacher drifted away to the common rooms or their own offices. In truth, Ethan had no heart to move or speak and it seemed to him his companions shared his despair. Finally, the coast clear, he roused himself and spoke to Anne and Marcus.

"We'd best get back to the dorm," he said. "Bancroft will be looking for Marcus...and I need to come up with a plan."

Marcus nodded but said nothing, his eyes clouded with tears. He and Anne followed Ethan cautiously out of the wardrobe, across the abandoned staff room and back into the hall.

As they headed towards Bradbury Tower, the corridors were deserted. Anne broke the silence.

"What kind of plan do you have in mind?"

"I'd tell you if I knew," Ethan replied. "I just know there has to be something I can do, it's on the tip of my tongue. I feel like it should be obvious, but I can't put my finger on it."

When they reached the common room, they joined the gloomiest group Ethan had ever seen at Kaaterskill. He and Anne flopped down at a table with the other 2nd years, but Marcus was pulled aside by Kenny immediately. The first-years were uniformly in tears. Ethan looked for Alec, but didn't see him. He got up, approached Shane Gonzalez and asked, "Where's Alec?"

Shane looked up, then glanced at his classmates. Ellis Northrup looked back and said, "You'd better tell him, Shane."

Ethan swallowed, wondering what else could have happened.

"We couldn't stop him, Ethan," Shane said grimly. "As soon as we heard about Tally, Alec said he knew where she'd been taken and that he had to go after her."

"What?" Ethan said, thunderstruck. "The little fool!" He returned to the 2nd-years and slumped back into his chair.

"Just when you think it can't get worse," he muttered.

"What is it, Ethan?" Anne asked.

"What it always is!" he exclaimed in frustration. "Alec. He's gone after Tally."

"We'd best tell Kenny right away," Anne said. "Unless..."

"No, you're right," Ethan agreed. "We can't go after him alone."

They found Kenny in the proctors' lounge with Marcus, who'd started crying again even though the proctor's message wasn't news to him.

"Kenny, we need your help to find Alec Evans," Ethan said. "He's gone to try and save Tally. He can't do it alone, but together we might be able to find her."

Kenny initially looked at Ethan in disbelief. But as Ethan and Anne explained Tim's note, the skepticism fell away, replaced by sober contemplation.

"Well, Ethan, should I assume you think you know where we should look for Alec?" Kenny asked at last.

"Yeah, I think he overheard me and Anne talking about the proctors' bathroom."

"I should just tell Bancroft and let him deal with this," Kenny said. "But you seem to have a knack for knowing what needs to be done, Ethan, so I'll go with you. But if you still have that amulet, I think you two should use that."

"Wait a minute," Marcus interrupted. "If you're going after Tally, I'm going too."

Ethan nodded and quickly ran up to his dorm to retrieve the amulet from his trunk. When he returned, he slipped it over him, Anne and Marcus. Then Kenny led them out of the lounge, through the Common Room and out into the hall. He strode carefully downstairs, carrying a lantern in one hand and his wand in the other, followed by his invisible companions. They passed no one; apparently everyone else was locked up in the common rooms, offices and faculty quarters. As they made their way down the stairway to the second floor hall, Ethan could make out a small figure at the bottom of the stairs. Alec Evans had just reached the door to the proctors' bathroom.

Kenny put on his best strict proctor face as he strode up to Alec.

"Evans, whatever do you think you're doing out here," he said with a frown. "You know students are confined to the dorms. Do you know how many house points this should cost you? Not to mention detention!"

Alec looked Kenny in the eye, his chin jutting defiantly. "I'm sorry if I'm causing you trouble, Kenny, but I decided trying to save Tally was more important than house points. And detention won't matter if they close the school, will it?"

Kenny gazed at Alec for a moment, shook his head and, quite unexpectedly, laughed in spite of himself.

"You're right there, Evans," he said. "But you're not getting very far, from the looks of it."

At that, Ethan took off the amulet, revealing Anne, Marcus and himself. Their sudden appearance startled the younger boy for just a moment.

"Ethan! I heard you talking about this bathroom!" Alec exclaimed. "How do we get in? And what's in there?"

Kenny answered first. "I can deal with the first question. As to the second, Ethan?"

"I don't know whether anything's there now," Ethan said. "But I know what's been attacking people. It's a water lynx. If it manages to take Tally back to its home waters, she may vanish or..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Even so, Marcus' eyes started tearing again.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Alec said impatiently.

"Everyone needs to be careful," Ethan said sternly. "Keep your wands lit. Light can sap the water lynx's strength. Kenny, the password..."

"Flower Power!" Kenny said clearly. The ornate door opened in.

The proctor went first, lantern in one hand and lit wand in the other. The others followed apprehensively. They looked around the room slowly, caution vying with curiosity.

"Well, the proctors certainly have it good," Anne said as she stared at the marble sink with gold faucets and a bathtub that looked more like a swimming pool, complete with a diving board at one end.

"Yeah, too bad it's been broken all year," Kenny said. Ethan notice that the tub was empty, except for a shallow trail of water leading to the central drain. Looking down at his own feet, he realized he was standing in water as well.

He looked again at the drain and suddenly understood what he had to do, though he still didn't know how he was going to do it. The circular drain was divided into quarters by two crossed bars.

"We've got to go down there," he said, pointing to the drain. "That's where they've gone."

The others looked at him questioningly.

"How?" Kenny asked.

Alec began to jump up and down excitedly, as if he was trying to get a teacher's attention, but Ethan had already divined the answer. He climbed into the tub and got down on his knees near the drain. Then he held his arm so that his quartered-circle scar faced the drain.

"Open!" he said. The others looked on expectantly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Ethan noticed that the metal drain had begun to glow faintly. The light intensified and the drain began to spin round and round. A few seconds later, it began to rise and the hole it had filled started to grow. Ethan stood up and quickly scrambled back over the edge of the tub. As they all stared, the bottom of the tub opened to form a marble slide that descended sharply into a seemingly endless hole.

"Do we have to go down there, then?" Anne asked hesitantly. "There could be toads and all kinds of things down there."

"Oh, I should think there would be," said a gruff voice behind them.

They all jumped. Ethan saw Uriel Swope's misshapen form in the doorway they'd left open. The art professor gripped a wand tightly in his right hand.

"Bancroft sent word that several Bradbury students were unaccounted for," he said. "Not very wise, under the circumstances. There are teachers searching the whole school for you."

Swope saw the glowing drain cover, which was now rotating near the ceiling. He peered past the students at the tub and his eyes grew wide.

"Well, what have we here?" he asked. Swope moved into the room and shut the door behind him.

"We've got to go down there, sir," Ethan said as Swope stared down the white slide into the blackness. "Please don't stop us. It's the only chance we've got to save Tally Gibson."

Swope let go a grim laugh. He turned his eyes to Ethan. "You really are remarkable, Lloyd, to have gotten this far. I assume you know that the creature is..."

"A water lynx," Ethan finished the sentence. "We don't have much time, Professor."

"No. I suppose you're aware you have virtually no chance of succeeding, even if a water lynx is _all_ you're up against," Swope said, glancing at Kenny's lantern and the lit wands. "At least you've taken some basic precautions."

"Sir, time!" Ethan said again and Alec began hopping up and down impatiently.

Kenny again put on his proctor's voice and said earnestly, "Professor Swope, Ethan's right. Please, either let us go or turn us in now. We're as well prepared as we can be under the circumstances."

Swope gave them all one more appraising glance.

"Not well enough, I'm afraid," he said. The students groaned, but Swope held up his hand. In the same instant, he strode up to the tub, threw one leg over the edge and said, "Come on, then, follow me!" With that he clambered over, lit his wand and pushed off down the slide.

The students froze for a moment in disbelief.

Then Alec shouted "Let's go!" Kenny picked the first-year up and gave him a push down. A few moments later, the proctor followed Alec down into the darkness.

Ethan took a deep breath and headed down the slide after Kenny, clutching his lit wand tightly. The marble was slick with trickling water. Ethan picked up speed as he descended. The slide spiraled down in several places. Ethan heard himself screaming involuntarily as he went faster and faster. Finally, the marble leveled slightly and he fell off the end, hitting a damp stone floor with a soggy thud.

He got to his feet gasping for breath, somehow still holding his wand. His eyes had just begun to adjust to the dark when he buckled again as Marcus slid off the slide into Ethan's legs. Anne tumbled onto the floor next to them a moment later.

As he got up again, Ethan saw Swope standing about ten feet away with Kenny and Alec.

"Nothing broken, I trust?" Swope asked, his alarming visage accentuated by the dim light.

Ethan shrugged. The others shook their heads. They looked around their new surroundings. They were in a tunnel, so it appeared, with an arched stone ceiling. To their right, an underground stream flowed towards them, taking a turn just past the marble slide and burbling on past and down the tunnel. The stone platform on which they'd landed narrowed to an uneven path that ran alongside the left bank of the stream.

"Well, what next, Mr. Lloyd?" Swope asked.

"I thought you'd know, sir," Ethan answered. "You seem to know an awful lot about what we're doing."

"Not at all, not at all," Swope said. "I put two and two together, that's all. I couldn't stop you, your goal is laudable, and you are probably that unfortunate girl's only chance. But I've got no plan, I've never been here before, never even dreamed that this place existed. I'll do what I can to back you up, but that's all. This, as they say, is your gig, Mr. Lloyd."

Ethan paused to think, all too aware that the others were all looking at him. Marcus, who'd regained his composure in the excitement of discovering the slide and going down the chute, looked to be on the verge of breaking down again.

Ethan surveyed the fast-moving stream. There was no way for them to go upstream; the stone path only went downstream.

"We have to go this way," he said, indicating the path. He remembered the description of the creature: "_Any limb that comes in contact with the water lynx's home waters will become invisible, immersion is thought to be fatal_." He had no idea whether these were _Michi-Pichoux_'s 'home waters,' but he decided that they should take no chances.

"Whatever you do," he told the others. "Don't touch the water!"

Then he led the way down the path, followed by Kenny, Anne, Marcus and Alec. Swope brought up the rear as they picked their way along the stony path beside the dark stream.

Nobody seemed eager to talk in the dark tunnel. A sense of foreboding rose in Ethan's heart as they walked and unpleasant speculation filled his mind. Had the water lynx already taken Tally beneath the stream's dark surface? If so, would she have drowned or would she have just flickered out and disappeared? Would it really matter?

Ethan kept these thoughts to himself, but he sensed that his companions were asking themselves similar questions.

After they'd walked a mile or more, Ethan became aware of a faint, high-pitched noise far ahead of them. He stopped to listen. Kenny stumbled as he tried to avoid running into Ethan. Anne reached out and steadied Kenny as he was about to slip into the water. As it was the proctor's foot knocked a small pebble several feet out into the stream. It dropped with a gentle splash that was magnified in the empty tunnel.

They watched as if mesmerized by the expanding circles that flowed outward from the pebble's point of entry.

"Sorry," said Ethan. "But do you hear that noise?

He beckoned ahead, straining his ears.

"What is it?" Marcus asked after a moment. "Sounds like something buzzing."

"Like a fluorescent light that's going bad," Alec suggested. Ethan nodded, though the others looked puzzled, save for Uriel Swope, who said nothing but looked grimly thoughtful.

"Guess we'll have to get closer to find out," Anne said bravely, though Ethan saw her face was unusually white and scared.

There being no alternative, the group marched on towards the source of the noise. About ten minutes later, the stream and the path both turned sharply to the right. For some distance, a rock wall separated the path from the water, forming a sort of tunnel. The faint buzz had become a loud hum.

A little way into the tunnel, something fluttered across Ethan's face. He jumped back, startled. As the others entered the tunnel, a swarm of tiny blue bugs surrounded them. Evidently, the buzzing noise emanated from these creatures.

"Billywigs!" Swope exclaimed. "Don't let 'em bite you!"

Alec and Marcus were flailing about, trying to keep the billywigs away from their faces. Anne gasped and pointed her wand into the largest group of the annoying insects.

"_Stupefy_!" she shouted.

The billywigs dropped to the floor. Unfortunately, so did large portions of the ceiling. Chunks of rock fell all around them and the wall separating the stream and path crumbled and fell. Ethan covered his head with his hands and fell to the ground as a cloud of rock dust rose into the air and surrounded them.

He heard gasps and choking coughs around him.

When the dust settled, Ethan found himself alone with a rock cave in behind him. There was no sign of the billywigs. He saw a small opening in the pile of rubble and called into it.

"Hello! Is everyone all right?"

"We're OK, Ethan," Kenny called out. "Well all except Swope."

"What happened to him?" Ethan asked.

"He's out cold, must have taken a knock from one of these rocks," Marcus called from the other side. "Still breathing, though."

"You four take care of him," Ethan told them. "You can try to move some of the rock on your side, while I..."

"No way, Ethan!" Alec shouted furiously. "I'm going with you! You may need help."

Ethan agreed completely with Alec on that, although he remained skeptical that Alec's help was the sort he needed. But he knew they were wasting time.

"Come on, then!" he grumbled, then added to the others. "We'll be back soon!"

"Good luck, both of you!" Anne said as Alec squeezed through the small opening in the fallen rock.

Kenny added, "Be careful, will you, Lloyd?"

"Will do, Kenny," Ethan answered as he and Alec headed down the tunnel.

The stream had forced its way under the cave-in and the dark water splashed along beside them.

Presently, Ethan noticed a wall of solid stone ahead of them. The light cast by their wand tips reflected off its smooth surface. Was it a dead end? The water lynx, after all, needed only the stream to reach its lair, not the path on the bank.

When they reached the spot, Ethan and Alec saw that in fact the path turned sharply to the right. The stream split into two branches, one turning sharply right, the other staying on its course. A narrow stone bridge carried the path over the water and onto an island.

Ethan and Alec gazed across the bridge upon an awesome sight. The path widened into a wide, high-ceilinged way, flanked by a row of massive stone columns. Many torches blazed from the columns, lighting the well-paved path. At the base of each column was carved a gigantic lizard, green-skinned and so life-like Ethan felt they could strike at any moment.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Ethan could see that the passage came to an end at a massive set of doors in the distance. He felt the floor vibrating. He turned towards Alec and saw that the younger boy was, quite literally, shaking with fear.

"That's it up there, isn't it, Ethan?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the huge doors. "The _Michi-Pichoux_'s chamber."

"You're probably right, Alec," Ethan answered. "Listen, are you sure you want to find out what's in there? I know I'm not."

To Ethan's surprise, Alec did not protest the veiled suggestion he might not want to continue. But he did seem to master his fear and his trembling subsided.

"I'm _not_ sure, Ethan," he said gravely. "But I've come this far and I'd be just as scared here by myself with those things staring at me." He gestured towards the nearest lizard statue.

"OK, let's go then," Ethan said and off they trudged again. Ethan's clothes were wet, his hands and face smeared with dirt and dust, his body bruised. But none of this made any impression on him. His mind was full of Tally Gibson, clutched by a beast he knew only from the sketchy description he'd prised from Tim's grasp.

It seemed to take forever to traverse the columned passage. Each pair of lizards seemed to follow them with their eyes. Finally they passed the last pair and stood before the massive doors, which Ethan now saw were made of stone, carved all over with runes. There were no door handles, but just below Ethan's eye level there was the familiar quartered-circle rune, one on each door.

"Get your wand ready, Alec," Ethan warned. "Remember the disarming spell, it may be our only hope."

Ethan raised his arm to match his scar to the rune, but before he could do so, an unearthly glow began to emanate from the door. The boys stepped back, wands raised, only to behold the ghostly form of the old Dutch captain, Jan van Dam.

"Six times before have I tried to warn you of the danger that stalks you," Van Dam intoned. "You have dashed our hopes each time. Far from fleeing for safety, you have sought danger. And now only this door separates you from the doom foretold. One last time I beseech you to turn back."

Van Dam's words troubled Ethan―and angered him.

"Why do you care what happens to me?" he asked.

"My fate – and that of my crew- rests on your response to the warning. We have been justly condemned to sail three centuries and more for our misdeeds," Van Dam explained. "Once in every century we are given the task of warning one human of their mortal peril. If we are ignored, we sail until the next century. But if we are heeded..."

Van Dam paused and Ethan thought he could make out a spectral tear on the ghost's cheek.

"If we are heeded, we may rest and pass to the other side," Van Dam continued. "And I may again see my son, who escaped my fate."

"You mean Hans," Ethan said quietly.

"Aye, Hans," Van Dam affirmed. "A good lad, though just as stiff-necked as thou art, Ethan Lloyd."

"Ethan's not stiff-necked, he just tries to do what's right," Alec said suddenly. Van Dam turned to the younger boy and Ethan looked at Alec in surprise.

"You...you can hear him?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah," Alec said. "I don't know how it happened, but after you started talking with him, it was almost like tuning in a radio, his voice just got clearer and clearer."

"You may know your companion better than I, young man," Van Dam said to Alec. "Yet he doth remind me of my Hans nonetheless."

"Hans wasn't any more stiff-necked than me," Ethan said. "He tried to stop you going aboard the _Chimaera_ because he knew it was cursed."

"I know that now," Van Dam said wistfully. "Yet, he could not have saved me. I had cast my own fate." The old ghost fell silent and looked down at the stone floor.

At last, Ethan felt a twinge of compassion for the ghostly sea captain. Until now, Ethan had been annoyed by Van Dam's appearances. The dream had returned to his waking mind after spending months just out of reach of his consciousness. And now Ethan understood Jan Van Dam's desire to be released and reunited with his son, even hundreds of years after Hans himself had died. He also felt that Hans, wherever he was, would also welcome that reunion.

And then Ethan realized that he had the power to end Van Dam's wanderings and make that possible. All he had to do was turn around and walk back to the others, pick his way through the cave-in and retreat.

"How do I know Hafgan didn't send you to keep me from stopping his plans?" he asked.

Van Dam snapped out of his reverie.

"Hafgan?" he said. "I know nothing of him. My sentence was handed down by powers far older than your Hafgan."

"I understand you now," Ethan told the ghost. "And I'd really like to help you. But there's a girl on the other side of this door who'll die if we don't save her. I _know_ it's dangerous, but I have to try."

"Then we are doomed for another century," Van Dam said dejectedly and he began to turn away.

"Wait a minute!" Alec said. "Ethan hasn't ignored your warning. He's just chosen to face the danger to save Tally. You _should_ be set free."

Van Dam hesitated and gave Alec a quizzical look.

"I thank you for that suggestion, young man, though I doubt that will avail us. Still, where there is life," he nodded to Ethan and continued, "there is hope."

While Ethan had been speaking with the ghost, he'd momentarily forgotten his fear of what lay beyond the door. Now, as he waited for Van Dam's inevitable fading, the nervousness returned to the pit of his stomach.

"Well, we'd better not waste any more time. Thanks, captain," he said, adding as an afterthought, "I appreciate the warning. I just wish you and your crew could do something other than warn. A few dozen ghosts might really help about now."

Van Dam's image was already starting to shimmer and become indistinct.

"Indeed, I also wish that I could do that, Ethan Lloyd. But 'tis beyond the terms of our sentence..." His form blinked out.

"Ready, Alec?" Ethan asked grimly. The younger boy nodded.

"Wand at the ready," Ethan added., then he held the scar on his arm up against the quartered circle on the door and said "Open!"

All the runes on the door began to glow. Then the doors began to move slowly inward. The two boys stood at the center, both apprehensive and eager to discover what lay beyond.


	19. Chapter 19: The Chamber Behind The Falls

Chapter Nineteen

The Chamber Behind the Falls

Ethan peered past the doors. He saw a huge statue at the far end of the chamber: an imperious, stern wizard with a ring of lizards crouched at his feet. The face of Hrothgar (for Ethan felt sure this was his statue) seemed lizard-like itself, elongated with glittering green eyes. The chamber was lit with torches, although more dimly than the colonnaded hall outside. A sound of rushing water filled Ethan's ears. Though he could not see the two branches of the underground stream, the noise seemed to be coming from beyond the statue somewhere.

There was no sign of a water lynx. In fact, nothing moved but the flicker of the flames from the torches.

Alec and Ethan moved warily into the chamber. As they advanced,Ethan saw that there was something―in appearance, a small dark bundle―right at the feet of Hrothgar's statue. As he looked more closely, he perceived that the bundle was moving ever so slightly. He pointed. Alec took one look, called out "Tally!" and ran forward. Ethan followed, wishing very much that Alec hadn't shouted, arriving just as the younger boy slid down to the stone floor.

"Don't be dead, Tally!" Alec exclaimed as he knelt beside the face-down figure. Ethan came around to Tally's other side, letting his wand clatter to the floor next to Alec's so that he could gently turn her over. Tally's eyes were closed, her skin felt clammy, her breathing sounded shallow and weak. She did not seem to be wounded, nor did she appear to be time-frozen. In one hand, she held a small picture frame that Ethan quickly recognized as the portrait of Harry Fagan. But the canvas was empty.

"What's wrong with her?" Alec asked, frustrated. "She doesn't look hurt, just asleep."

"I don't know, Alec," Ethan said.

"Wake up, Tally!" Alec said, shaking his classmate by the shoulders.

"She won't awaken," said a voice behind them. Ethan turned and saw a tall boy with dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes looking down at them with a bemused smile.

"Hal?" Ethan asked, recognizing the portrait's subject. He looked back at Tally. "What's happened to her? We have to get her out of here!"

"There's nothing you can do to help her," Hal said lightly. Ethan turned and saw that Fagan now held two wands in his hand.

"Hal, we can't stay here," Ethan said urgently. "There's a water lynx down here."

"_Michi-Pichoux_ only comes when called," Hal said, the artificially light tone still in his voice.

Ethan glanced at Tally and the empty painting, then gave Hal a sharp look.

Alec looked confused. "Are you a ghost?" he asked.

"No, a portrait, released from the canvas," Fagan answered.

"That's impossible," Alec said.

"Most would say so," Hal said, his voice suddenly cold as steel. "Even I needed the ear of a foolish little girl to escape my frame."

"You did this to her?" Alec asked. Ethan could sense one of Alec's furious frenzies coming on. He managed to catch the younger boy's eye and held up a hand.

"Me? Certainly not," Fagan said with a laugh that didn't suit him. "Everything she did, she did herself. Though I did encourage her from time to time."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"Tally found my portrait in her belongings when she arrived in September and she soon began confiding in me. First year was _so_ difficult, her big brother was _mean_ to her, she didn't think the other kids liked her and, perhaps worst of all, she was sure that brave, good Ethan Lloyd would _never_ even notice her. It was really rather dull stuff, but I was so happy to be back at Kaaterskill that I listened. I encouraged and cheered poor Tally, all the while learning from her the current situation of the school and the wizarding world. And little by little, I enlisted her in my plans. I've always had the ability to convince others to do my bidding. Tally, of course, didn't really know what she was doing, at first. Our conversations became rather surreal. _Oh, Hal! I blacked out after the Pumpkin Hunt and the groundskeeper's been attacked! I think there's blood on my robes...There was another attack and my brother says I'm not myself, Hal, and I think he suspects me._"

Hal twirled the wands idly and continued, "After a time, Tally began to mistrust me, I'm afraid and she decided to discard my painting. And I must admit, I wasn't unhappy to be rid of her. Then I had the good fortune to be found by the person I most wanted to speak with...you, Ethan Lloyd."

"Why were you so interested in me?" Ethan asked through clenched teeth.

"Well, Tally had told me all about you in her boring way," the dark-haired boy said. "I knew I had to meet you and talk with you. I was delighted to find that you were an artist like me. I observed you, realized that you wouldn't be able to resist the urge to enter my painting and so I was able to show you what I wanted of the previous incomplete Cleansing."

"_You_ had that poor girl killed," Ethan said, enraged. "And than you framed Beadle for it."

"Yes, well, it was my word against his," Fagan said. "And most found the brilliant and brave orphan more believable than the charity case from a long line of janitors. The only one who seemed to suspect me was the rhabdomancy professor, Flyte. He had an uncanny ability to keep track of me, so I laid low and devised a way to reactivate the Cleansing in the future."

"I bet Flyte had you figured out," Alec said.

"Well, he kept an annoyingly close eye on me," Fagan said. "I knew I'd need a way to preserve what I'd learned about Hrothgar and the Cleansing. I was Professor Aiken's star art student. I'd learned some special techniques from him and developed others myself. With these skills and my determination, I created a unusually powerful self-portrait.

Alec tugged at Ethan's robes. Ethan turned and saw that Tally's breathing had grown even shallower. Meanwhile, Fagan's outline on the painting had faded further, while the Fagan standing before them now appeared more solid. Worse, Ethan saw that a new outline―Tally's―had begun to appear on the canvas.

"In any case, I was annoyed at first to find my portrait stuffed back in Tally's trunk," Fagan continued. "But then I realized that it was just as well. My plan could move forward."

"But your precious Cleansing isn't going to happen this time, either," Ethan said. "We've harvested enough Singing Barberry to awaken everyone who's time-frozen."

"Perhaps I didn't tell you? The Cleansing doesn't matter to me anymore," Fagan said lazily. "No, my new target was you, Ethan Lloyd. All that remained was to find a way to attract you here. And I'd learned enough about you to know that if one your friends was in mortal danger, you would try to rescue them. So I used my influence with Tally to get her to post a final message and come here to await you. While she's waited, I've nearly finished extracting her soul for my own use in escaping the painting for good."

"You still haven't explained why you're so desperate to bring me here," Ethan said. "What's so important about me?"

"Don't be so modest, Ethan," Fagan replied. "From Tally, I'd heard all about your defeat of Hafgan last year. I managed to learn that your parents had also thwarted the great Hafgan before your birth. And then there was your curious accident aboard the Steamboat last fall."

"Why do you care about Hafgan?" Ethan asked. "He was past your time."

"Ah, there you're wrong, my boy," Fagan answered. "Hafgan and I are very close, indeed." With that, he raised Ethan's wand and wrote, in glowing letters that hung in mid-air "H. Fagan," With a flick of the wand, he removed the period and reversed two letters and the name "Hafgan" floated before them.

"You see, I knew even in my school days that one day I would surpass all the wizards who ever lived in North America," Fagan said. "I had no desire to keep the name of my weak, muggle-loving father, so I chose one more fitting for the last descendant of the great Hrothgar. Amongst my friends, I'd begun using the name Hafgan even before I'd left school."

"As for you, Ethan," Fagan continued. "I had to discover how you―an ordinary boy with a magical heritage but no great talent―had managed to defeat Hafgan the Magnificent."

"You're not so magnificent," Alec piped up. "If you want magnificent, you need to look at Cyrus Flyte."

"Spoken like the mudblood you are," Fagan hissed at Alec. "Oh, yes, little Tally told me all about you, too. Always willing to stick your neck where it doesn't belong. This time it will cost you, young fool. As to Cyrus Flyte, he's been conveniently removed from Kaaterskill by the mere rumor of me."

"Flyte's not as far away as you think," Ethan said. Alec's comment had briefly broken Fagan's calm demeanor and Ethan hoped to keep his distracted.

Fagan opened his mouth to reply, but instead he stopped and gazed back towards the open doors.

Alec and Ethan turned to follow Fagan' stare. A sound like thundering hooves approached down the tunnel towards them, mingled with something like joyous horns.

For a split second, Ethan tensed, wondering if it was the water lynx. But this sound was far too joyful to fear for long. In another moment, Ethan smiled broadly as Burr came bounding into the chamber, forked tail wagging furiously. The dog took one look at Ethan, bowled him over and took off, circling the room at high speed, a mere blur to the human eye. After a couple of laps, Burr slowed and trotted up to Ethan, this time with an old bent stick in his mouth. Burr dropped the stick at Ethan's feet and then nuzzled his shoulder, remaining there, his warmth filling Ethan with something like hope.

"That's a greyhound-krup," Fagan said, returning the sleek dog's gaze.

Ethan put his left hand on Burr's neck and scratched him behind the ears.

"And that," Fagan added, pointing at the stick Burr had dropped, "that's Bradbury's old dowsing rod." And he laughed, a cold laugh that made Ethan's hair stand on end.

"So, this is what Flyte sends his defenders," Fagan said derisively. "A dog and a stick to fetch. I do hope you feel stronger now." He laughed again, the sound echoing around the chamber and down the adjacent tunnel.

Ethan said nothing. Alec had moved closer to him, placing one hand on Burr's back and holding Tally's cold hand in the other.

It made no sense, but Ethan did feel stronger and a bit braver next to Burr, a warm, unperturbed presence in the cold, dark chamber. He waited for Fagan to speak again.

"Now, Ethan Lloyd, to the matter at hand," Fagan said, smiling unpleasantly. "In my future, I have been thwarted by Lloyds, first by your parents, then by you yourself. I must know how. So speak to me, Ethan, tell me all you know. Every word postpones your death another moment."

Ethan glanced quickly past Alec at Tally. What color was left in her face was fading. On the canvas, her outline was becoming more distinct, while Fagan's outline had nearly disappeared. Ethan realized that he must confront Fagan soon, before the process was complete, but he couldn't see how he would prevail. After all, Fagan was very real now, armed with two wands; all Ethan and Alec had was Burr and the dowsing rod.

Ethan cast his memory back to what he'd seen in the Vases of Artephius over a year earlier. Most of what he knew about Table Mountain had appeared to him in the Vase of the Past; his parents rarely spoke of their ordeal.

"You couldn't control the monster you'd set free at Table Mountain," he said, remembering the surprise in Hafgan's eyes as the monster radiated hatred on the wind-swept peak. What Ethan said next represented a deduction, a leap of understanding that suddenly came to him. "My parents saved themselves with the only thing powerful enough to defeat the monster."

"And what, pray tell, was that?" Fagan asked, a sort of hunger in his eyes now.

"Something you know nothing about," Ethan replied. "Their love for one another. That gave them the power to defeat the monster, while you ran away and hid for years."

The hunger in Fagan's eyes turned to cold malice, his face flushed with rage for a moment.

"I might have known," he said, composed once again. "No great skill, just the deepest, most elementary sort of magic. And then last year, you came face to face with Hafgan and prevented him from regaining the Talisman. Are you going to tell me that the power of love saved you as well?"

"Well, you hadn't learned anything from Table Mountain," Ethan said brashly. "You needed me to get your precious talisman and that's been destroyed now. You're pitiful, you're in hiding, you've failed."

"Enough!" Fagan shouted angrily. "We shall see what you think when you face the powers of Hafgan, the last descendant of the great Hrothgar, true heir of Bradbury, with the weapons Flyte has sent you. It's a pity it's come to this, Ethan. After all, we're more alike than you might believe. Only children of weak wizards who loved muggles, both deprived of a magical upbringing until Kaaterskill. I wondered, of course, whether your powers might be like mine as well. But your survival thus far, and that of your parents, has been due to mere luck and accident."

Ethan watched, his legs shaking as Fagan strode to the front of the statue and looked up into the stone eyes of Hrothgar. Fagan held up his arms and as he did, Ethan was startled to see a quartered circle on his left wrist, just above another mark of a snake entwined through a human skull.

Fagan spoke in a rasping, hissing voice that Ethan understood.

"Come forth, creature of the deeps. The heir of Hrothgar calls you forth!"

"What's happening, Ethan?" Alec asked in a panicked voice.

"I don't know," Ethan answered. "Whatever happens, stay with her, Alec. I'll try to keep them away from you."

To the right of the statue, the floor was giving way to a large pit filled with water.

"The _home waters_," Ethan said aloud.

Fagan looked at him. "Yes, your doom lies there, Ethan Lloyd. You may understand _Michi-Pichoux_'s speech, but it answers only to me."

Small ripples began to form on the surface of the water. The ripples gradually grew larger, finally transforming into roiling bubbles. Ethan stared involuntarily at the pit as two huge antlers emerged from the water. They were attached to a head like that of a great cat with hungry yellow eyes, a massive body covered in the green scales of a serpent but with a huge cat's tail that twitched like a whip.

Alec screamed. Ethan found himself frozen to the spot. Burr, who had been nuzzling Ethan's side, suddenly dashed away, letting the dowsing rod clatter to the floor.

"Don't go," Ethan said plaintively, but he wasn't surprised; how could one greyhound-krup combat a monster like this?

Dripping on the stone floor, the water lynx gave Fagan an inquiring look.

_Why have you summoned me, master? _the beast hissed. Again, Ethan understood.

_Time for you to feed, _Fagan said without emotion_. Kill the boys! Leave the girl. I have need of her for a short time._

The water lynx advanced towards Ethan, its short legs surprisingly springy. Ethan backed away, taking care to also move away from Alec and Tally. The monster followed him, apparently content to return for Alec after catching Ethan.

As Ethan neared the doorway to the chamber, Fagan raised a wand and the great stone doors shut with a boom.

_Stand still, human! Michi-Pichoux _hissed_. You cannot escape. Let your death come quickly. It is inevitable. Save yourself suffering._

Ethan thought of the still-flickering forms of Tim, Bram and the others in the Infirmary. Had they suffered? Their frozen faces betrayed only surprise, not pain. He kept backing along the wall on the other side of the door. The water lynx continued moving away from the other students, its open jaws revealing sharp teeth and a snake-like tongue.

As Ethan stepped back, he tripped on something and fell to the stone floor. His glasses flew across the the floor. He'd caught his foot on the dowsing rod, which Burr had dropped when he ran off.

As the water lynx approached, Ethan scrambled backwards, grasping the dowsing rod as he went. He held it in front of him, knowing that it could only block _Michi-Pichoux_ for a moment.

Suddenly something was moving fast around the water lynx. Even with his glasses, Ethan would have seen Burr as a mere blur, so fast did the greyhound go. The water lynx snapped at the dog, but it was far too slow.

As the water lynx snapped malevolently at the streak that was Burr, Ethan moved away cautiously. As he did, the dowsing rod began to throb in his hand. Ethan grabbed both of its prongs and the rod began to draw him on, as it had during the House Assignments. His arms tingled as he followed, the malevolent growls of Michi-Pichoux fading and the sound of rushing water drawing nearer. Ethan was behind the statue now. Without his glasses, Ethan could only vaguely make out a large opening before him. Water was falling from above. A breeze blew spray into his face. Immediately before him, he could see the two branches of the underwater stream reunite before plunging over a precipice. He realized that he was in the cave behind The Falls.

For a moment, Ethan thought the dowsing rod was going to drag him over the edge. But instead, the end of the rod planted itself in a pile of loose rock.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Ethan asked. He hardly expected an answer, but he heard the rod reply, "Look!"

He got down on his knees and felt amongst the rocks. A stout pole was wedged there and when Ethan pulled it, he found he was holding a spear with ornate symbols carved on its handle.

Just then, Burr leapt past him. Right behind him came the water lynx in full pursuit. The monster caught sight of Ethan and changed course quickly. Even without his glasses, Ethan could make out the beast's wide-open mouth lined with sharp teeth.

Instinctively, Ethan raised the spear. The water lynx came on, not seeing the weapon until the point was lodged in the back of its throat. Blood gushed from the beast's mouth and it thrashed wildly. Ethan felt excruciating pain in his left arm. As he wrenched his arm free, he took one of Michi-Pichoux's teeth with him. With a great shudder, the water lynx fell still on the stone floor.

Ethan pulled the spear free, yanked the tooth from his arm and stumbled back towards Alec and Tally. Pain seared his arm and an icy cold spread outwards from the wound. He kicked his glasses, bent down to pick them up and put them on. He tried to focus, but the chamber swam before his eyes.

"Ethan, you did it!" Alec yelled; as he saw Ethan laboring towards him, the younger boy's smile turned to concern. "But you're hurt."

Alec was still on the floor, guarding Tally's prone form. Fagan remained standing at the foot of the statue. Through his venom-induced haze, Ethan could see Fagan's face contort with rage.

"One round to you, Ethan," he said. "No matter. That wound may not be fatal, but you'll be frozen in a few minutes. I can dispatch you and your friend anytime."

Ethan knew Fagan was right. The pain migrated up towards his shoulder, leaving his whole left arm dull and cold. He could see his arm becoming indistinct, a flickering light running around it.

He sank to his knees. The cold was moving down his back and across to his right shoulder now. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to drift into a time-frozen state. His parents' faces passed through his mind as he grew colder and colder. But then he imagined something warm nuzzling him. With some effort he opened his eyes and saw Burr, eyes bright and curious, looking at him.

"Thanks, Burr," Ethan murmured. "You gave me a chance. I just wasn't fast enough."

Burr licked his face. Ethan's vision became blurrier. The dog rested his head on Ethan's frozen arm, then began licking the wound. Ethan focused on the dog's long snout and gentle eyes. As he watched, he felt warmth trickling back into the arm; gradually, his sight cleared. He could see and feel the wound closing and healing.

Suddenly, Fagan was shouting, "Get away from him, you stupid dog!" He aimed his wand and a jet of light chased Burr from Ethan's side. But the cold did not return to Ethan's arm.

"I should have remembered," Fagan said quietly. "Greyhound-krups have healing powers. That won't save you, though."

He aimed his wand. Ethan braced himself. This time there was no shield between him and Fagan's spell. But then, from behind the statue, from the falls something suddenly flooded the chamber with bright light. Fagan, Alec and Ethan all turned towards it and saw a multitude of ghosts, led by Jan Van Dam, stream into the chamber and begin circling Fagan.

Fagan looked startled as the ghosts surrounded him.

"We can only distract him for a moment," Ethan heard Van Dam say. "Get thee gone!"

"I can't leave them!" Ethan said, pointing at Alec and Tally.

Burr suddenly rushed back to Ethan's side, dropping the picture frame into his hands. Ethan could see Tally's form, nearly complete, in the painting. Next to her, Fagan's outline had all but disappeared.

Without thinking, Ethan raised the water lynx tooth in his right hand and thrust it down into the canvas where Fagan's image had been.

A terrible scream shook the chamber. Even the ghosts paused in their rush of activity. Fagan writhed in agony, arms raised, his form blurring before Ethan's eyes. Two wands clattered to the floor. And Hal Fagan vanished.

Then, for just a moment, there was silence. Ethan looked down at the painting. Fagan's image was back in the painting, but it lay motionless, pierced by the tooth. Next to him, Tally's outline had disappeared.

A long, gasping breath came from behind him. He looked around and saw Tally sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"Alec! Ethan! Where's Fagan? Oh, this is all my fault!" she exclaimed, looking in wonder at the scene around her. It was clear that she could see the pirate ghosts. "Who are they? And where'd the dog come from?"

Burr nuzzled her happily.

Alec beamed at her and began to recount the whole story. Ethan held up a hand.

"Wait!" he said firmly. "There will be time for that. All that's important right now is that Fagan is gone and the water lynx is dead."

He turned to Jan van Dam and his crew. "Thank you. You came along at exactly the right time."

Van Dam bowed. "'Tis just a small service we were permitted to provide," he said.

"Who permitted you, Captain?" Ethan asked. "Who is your jailer?"

Van Dam pointed towards the mouth of the cave. There a small canoe was floating towards them through the air. Ethan saw Raven Man paddling the canoe.

"Greetings, Ethan Lloyd!" the old _Jo-Ge-Oh_ said. "And greetings, Jan van Dam, for the last time."

"The last time?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, Ethan," Raven Man said. "The crew of the _Chimaera_ have, at long last, served their sentences." Turning to the ghosts, he continued. "You were condemned to sail the Great River until you succeeded in saving one endangered soul from a terrible fate. You have done so today."

Jan van Dam swept his antique hat from his ghostly head and bowed low to Raven Man. Then he turned to Ethan and repeated the gesture.

"Thank you, my boy," van Dam said. "Because you listened to us, we are freed of our great debt. Thou art as a savior to us." The ghostly crew knelt with their captain and cheered.

Ethan blushed. As he struggled to find words to reply, another shade approached from the Falls. It was the ghost of a white-haired man wearing knee breeches, a white ruffled shirt and an old fashioned waistcoat. He held a silvery cane in his left hand.

"Is it you, father?" Hans van Dam asked tremulously.

The captain turned to the approaching ghost. "Hans! My son!" he exclaimed and ghostly tears wet his face again. "You did grow well!" They embraced, which Ethan thought quite odd due to their ghostly transparence.

"Long I wandered, hoping to find you," Hans said. "Many tales were told of ghostly ships, but I never found the _Chimaera_. At last I settled and had a family. Indeed, father, your descendants still walk this valley. And now I have been summoned to you, that we may go together and greet those who have passed over before."

Hans turned towards the three children. Ethan met his eyes and recognized in them the boy of his dream many months earlier. "Raven Man tells me you are a young man to be reckoned with," Hans said. "May you continue the redress of long-ago wrongs."

Ethan blushed again. "I'll always try."

"So will I!" piped up Alec.

"Good for you, young one!" Hans said with a laugh. "Now, father, you and your crew must embark with me."

Jan nodded. Hans glided back toward the Falls with the ghostly crew behind him. Ethan, Alec and Tally followed them to the cave mouth. The first rays of morning sun illuminated the water spray of the falls tumbling down past them. Hans and the others glided off the precipice. As they passed into the spray, each ghostly figure faded and disappeared. In a twinkling they were all gone. Never were any of that company, save one, seen again on earth.

Raven Man hovered in his canoe near Ethan and his friends. Alec and Tally stared at him, amazed.

"You have done well, Ethan Lloyd," the old _Jo-Ge-Oh_ said. "Your headmaster will be proud."

"It was you who sent Van Dam to me," Ethan said. "You must have sent my dream, the one that started all this. But why didn't you just tell me or Flyte about Fagan's portrait?"

"I think you know that the _Jo-Ge-Oh _act as guardians," Raven Man said. "But we cannot often intervene directly in the affairs of your world. Disquieting news had come to us. And the_ Jo-Ge-Oh _take a special interest in your school."

"Why?" Ethan asked.

"You know the answer to that, I think," Raven Man said. "Search your memories."

Ethan thought back to his vision of the_ Chimaera_ anchored off the foggy riverbank. And then he remembered Professor Bancroft recounting the founding of Kaaterskill and Bradbury's choice of the school's site.

"That happened here!" he said. "The village the sailors destroyed was where the Landing is now."

Raven Man nodded. "Elwyn Bradbury chose the site for his school well. This mountain top was sacred to the People who were here before the Dutch sailed up the river. It remains a place of great power."

Ethan considered this silently for a moment. Tally and Alec still seemed to be in awe of Raven Man.

The sun was fully up by now and the day promised to be fine and warm. The sunlight sparkled through the cascade of the Falls.

"You must return whence you came now," Raven Man said. "And I must return to my people. But when I pass the Falls, this cave will once again be blocked off from the Falls, this time for good."

"But how will we get back the way we came?" Ethan asked. "Even if the others have cleared a way, we can't go back up that slide."

"You will find a way," Raven Man told him as the canoe drifted away. "Go well, Ethan Lloyd, you and your companions."

As soon as Raven Man had cleared the Falls, a wall of stone materialized across the cave entrance and they were plunged back into a darkness lit only by the flickering torches. The underground stream passed through a small gap at the bottom. but there was no chance a person could squeeze through that way.

Burr led the way up the long tunnel. Alec held Tally's hand and made sure she didn't stumble. Ethan brought up the rear, wand in one hand and an odd bundle in the other: the dowsing rod, spear and portrait. The return trip didn't seem nearly as long as had their walk into the chamber.

When they reached the cave-in, they found Kenny emerging from a hole in the rubble. He greeted them with a shout of relief.

"I can't believe it! They're all back―Tally, too!" Turning to Ethan, he added. "We just got through."

Marcus' head appeared in the gap in the rock, then he slid through and gave his sister a big hug.

Uriel Swope peered through. "Well, Mr. Lloyd, glad to see you've still got your knack for getting out of tight spots! Can we get out the way you came?"

"No, it's been sealed off," Ethan said.

"Then you'd better get to this side of these rocks," Swope said. "It's still not very stable. Have you given any thought to how we're going to get back up to the school?"

"No," Ethan said as he clambered through the hole, first handing the three artifacts through to Anne. Burr darted through after him, followed by Marcus, Tally, Alec and Kenny.

"You made it!" Anne exclaimed as she threw her arms around Ethan in a bear hug, then did the same to Alec and Tally. Ethan saw Alec's face turn as his own felt.

"Well, yeah, we made it," he said.

"What are you doing with this spear?" Anne asked. "And the dowsing rod?"

"Long story," Ethan answered. "It can wait. Right now, I think Burr wants us to follow him."

The greyhound-krup was prancing excitedly ahead of them, looking back expectantly as he did. He headed up the tunnel briskly as soon as he saw the group following him.

When they reached the end of the slide, Burr stopped and looked straight into Ethan's eyes, holding his forked tail high in the air.

"I think he wants you to grab hold," Kenny said. "But you're way to heavy for him to pull up that slope."

"Burr is no ordinary dog," Ethan said as he grasped the fork of the greyhound-krup's tail. "You hold onto me and Alec will hold onto you and so on."

Once everyone had hold of the person in front of them, Burr leapt onto the slide and flew up the slide. He _is_ flying! Ethan thought to himself, for he couldn't see the dog's paws touch the slide at all on the way up. Before long, Burr charged through the drain into the proctor's bathtub and everyone landed somewhat roughly on the ornate tiles. As they picked themselves off the floor, the drain was already closing and the grill spun down from the ceiling to its normal place.

Tally still looked upset, although Anne was trying to reassure her that she wasn't to blame.

Burr was again prancing in front of them, leading them down deserted corridors towards Professor Bancroft's office. When they arrived, Ethan took a deep breath and knocked on the door.


	20. Chapter 20: Arrivals and Departures

Chapter Twenty

A Summer Thaw

The door opened slowly. For a moment, Ethan, Tally and Alec stood in the doorway in silence, the others behind them. The silence was broken by gasps and a scream.

Cyrus Flyte was standing at the doorway. Burr pushed past Ethan and did a happy dance before the Headmaster. Bancroft was sitting at the desk with Professor O'Loughlin next to him. In front of the fireplace sat Jairus Gibson and a striking, slender woman whom Ethan realized was Marcus' and Tally's mother.

Mrs. Gibson leaped up, ran across the room and enveloped Tally in her arms. Jairus Gibson followed a split-second later. He shook Ethan's hand excitedly and threw his other arm around Marcus.

"You brought her back!" he exclaimed as Mrs. Gibson moved to embrace Marcus. "How did you manage it?"

Cyrus Flyte looked over the top of his glasses at Ethan and added, "I think we'd all like to know that."

O'Loughlin waved her wand and drew up enough chairs for everyone. Swope entered last.

"Professor Swope, did you have something to do with this?" O'Loughlin asked, one eyebrow raised. "We've been looking for you for hours."

"Didn't have much to do with it," Swope muttered. "Just gave them a little push when they needed it. Let Mr. Lloyd tell the story."

And so, Ethan let the whole tale spill out of him: the dream and the visits of Jan van Dam and the Phantom Ship, the mark on his arm, the strange voice, the toads escaping into the swamp, how Tim had realized the monster was a water lynx and how Ethan had deduced that the proctor's washroom was the entrance to the monster's lair.

"That's all well and good," Professor Bancroft interrupted. "But how on earth did you get out of there alive?"

And so Ethan continued, describing how Burr had appeared from nowhere with the dowsing rod and how the Rod had led him to the spear. But then he paused, unsure how to proceed. So far he'd said nothing of Fagan's portrait or Tally's involvement. The portrait was wrecked; what if nobody believed that Hal Fagan had emerged from his portrait? What if Tally was expelled? Ethan looked into Flyte's face, past the shock of white hair and straight into his deep, grey eyes, searching for the right thing to say.

Flyte returned the look thoughtfully.

"What is of most interest to me is this," the headmaster said at length. "How did young Miss Gibson come to be possessed by the soul of Hal Fagan?"

Mrs. Gibson, who'd been brushing Tally's hair, gave Flyte a confused look. Mr. Gibson asked, "What do you mean, Tally was...she wasn't possessed, was she, Flyte?"

Ethan held out the punctured portrait. "It was this―a self portrait that Fagan painted when he was in school."

Flyte took the small portrait from Ethan and peered at it intently. Then he turned to the Gibsons.

"These days not many recall a student of fifty years ago named Hal Fagan, but he was a brilliant scholar and a skilled artist.," the headmaster said. "Fewer still know that when young Fagan disappeared from view a few years after he finished school, he travelled widely in search of esoteric knowledge of dark magic and was drawn into the web of Lord Voldemort. When he returned to America, he had changed so thoroughly that almost no one realized that Hal Fagan and Hafgan were one and the same."

Flyte now had everyone's attention.

"But how does this involve our Tally?" Mrs. Gibson asked.

"The p-p-painting!" Tally sobbed. "I started talking with him right after school started. I was so lonely."

Jairus Gibson gave his daughter a look of flabbergasted disapproval. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again and instead glared at Marcus.

"But, Dad," Marcus said. "She never told _me_ anything was wrong!"

"I found the painting with my things when I got to school," Tally said. "I didn't tell anybody, I thought people would think I'd stolen it."

"Miss Gibson has had a terrible experience," Flyte interjected. "No lasting harm has been done, but I am quite sure a visit to the infirmary will do her good. Nurse Abernathy will have just the thing to get you back on your feet―a warm bed and a steaming mug of cocoa." Flyte strode to the door and opened it. "Why don't you run along as well, Mr. Gibson? The nurse should have finished administering the singing barberry potion to the water lynx's victims by now. Mr. Sturtevant, will you escort them and then see that Mr. Sprague gets back to his dorm all right?"

"So Tim's all right, too?" Ethan asked.

"Indeed he is," Flyte said as he ushered Kenny and the Gibson family out the door.

"Now, Professor Swope," Flyte said, returning to his chair. "I presume that you can explain your actions. It would appear that you abetted the breaking of several dozen school rules."

Ethan say Flyte's upper lip twitch as he said this. O'Loughlin and Bancroft looked at Swope expectantly.

Swope shifted in his seat, then turned his alarming countenance on Flyte, who looked at him placidly.

"Well, Headmaster, it seemed the better part of wisdom to help, rather than hinder, them," Swope said in his gruff voice. "Lloyd here seemed to have a plan and so I followed along, thinking I'd keep an eye on them. That part didn't work out so well, but here they all are, safe and sound. Nonetheless, I know you'll need my resignation."

"Resignation?" Ethan exclaimed. "You can't go now, not after all this."

"My dear boy," Swope said, looking at Ethan in an almost kindly way. "The Board will want to know how half-a-dozen children were allowed to place themselves in such danger. It will be convenient for all concerned if I am allowed to take responsibility."

"It's not convenient for me!" Ethan said. "You're the best art teacher there is."

Swope smiled broadly. "I am flattered to hear you say that, Mr. Lloyd. However, many parents and Board members questioned my appointment last summer. They seemed to feel that I would be a bad influence upon their children. Although I rather hope that I have fulfilled their fears, my departure will be best for all―even you. Keep using your talent, Mr. Lloyd, and all your teachers will appear to be geniuses."

Ethan looked to Flyte, but the headmaster's countenance indicated that he concurred with Swope's assessment.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'll start getting my things together," Swope said, standing and extending a hand to Flyte. "I hope I've managed in some small way to fulfill your expectations."

"Indeed you have, my old friend," the headmaster said. "Go well, now."

Swope turned to Ethan and shook his hand.

"I feel sure we'll meet again," the art teacher said. "I don't think you'll lose your muse again."

"Thanks, sir," Ethan said, his voice husky. He threw himself, still sodden, muddy and blood spattered, around Swope for a moment.

They looked at each other, then Swope laughed. "I must say, you look almost as unlikely as I did the first time you laid eyes on me."

Ethan smiled. Swope turned and left the room.

Flyte turned to the other teachers.

"Now, then, I think what the school needs is a celebratory feast. Lydia, would you go and alert the kitchens? Herodotus, would you please advise your students and the other house masters? And why not escort Miss Findlay and Mr. Evans to the Bradbury common room? I need a word with Mr. Lloyd."

Anne gave the headmaster a slightly aggrieved look; Bancroft and O'Loughlin looked at him quizzically as they left.

And so Professor Bancroft's office, so crowded and chaotic moments before, now held only Ethan, Cyrus Flyte and Burr.

Flyte sat down in Bancroft's chair, folded his hands before him and looked at Ethan. The old wizard in the portrait above the desk remained attentive.

"First, Ethan, I must offer you sincere thanks," Flyte said. "You must have been steadfast in your loyalty to me and to Kaaterskill. that is the only way you could have called Burr to you." The greyhound looked up at the sound of his name and moved to where Flyte could scratch behind his ears.

"But I didn't call him, sir," Ethan began.

"He is not an ordinary dog, Ethan," Flyte interrupted. "As I'm sure you now know. And so, you met Kaaterskill's most outstanding student, Hal Fagan. I imagine he was intrigued by you."

"Yes he was, though I'm not sure why," Ethan said, still bothered by something Fagan had said. "He also told me he thought we were alike- 'parallel experiences,' he said."

"That was curious of him, wasn't it?" Flyte said thoughtfully, looking at Ethan intently over his glasses and down his sharp beak of a nose. "What do you think?"

"He's wrong!" Ethan said vehemently. "I'm a Bradbury. There's no way..."

But a memory submerged for over a year suddenly resurfaced in Ethan's mind.

"Professor Flyte," he began after a moment of doubt. "The dowsing rod told me I would have done well in Tenskwatawa and...and half of the school thought I was Hrothgar's heir...and I could understand the water lynx."

"You can speak the language of the water lynx," Flyte said, fixing Ethan with his gaze. "Because Hafgan―who is Hrothgar's last descendant―can do so. When you were struck by his spell aboard the steamboat last fall, I believe that he unwittingly passed some of his own abilities on to you."

Ethan's took turned from anxiety to confusion and then to disgust. He looked at the scar on his arm, then back to Flyte.

"You mean Hafgan did this? He can make me like him?"

"No, Ethan, Hafgan's spell wasn't meant for you," Flyte said gently. "He was attempting to destroy the Phantom Ship, which he knew had been sent to warn of the plot to 'cleanse' Kaaterskill. Unfortunately for him, he has an incomplete grasp of the Ancient Magic that bewitched the _Chimaera_. Not only did he fail, his spell rebounded and splintered. You simply happened to be in the path of the ricochet."

"But doesn't this all mean that I really should be in Tenskwatawa?"

"When you held the dowsing rod, what did you tell it?" Flyte asked quietly.

"I told it I didn't want to be in the Prophet's house," Ethan said.

"And the rod put you where?"

"Bradbury."

"Exactly," Flyte said, smiling. "The dowsing rod is really a quite remarkable magical object. Not only does it sense our natural talents and potential when we grasp it, it also detects our own desires, our own wishes. And it places us in the house of our own choosing. Occasionally, it is true, the student only recognizes the choice years later."

Flyte sighed and rocked back in his chair, resting his chin bemusedly on his hands.

"And so, you are in Bradbury House, while Hal Fagan was in Tenskwatawa, despite the traits that you undeniably share: both sons of parents immersed in muggle culture, both resourceful and determined, each of you inclined to overlook rules that would hinder your quests, and now―due to his miscalculation―both fluent in the ancient language of _Michi-pichoux_."

"I don't want to end up like him!" Ethan exclaimed.

"And that is what makes you so different from him," Flyte said patiently. "You will be remembered for your choices, Ethan, not for your skill with a wand or your O.W.L. grades. If you wish a proof that this is so, you should examine _this_ more closely."

Flyte grasped the still-bloody spear that Ethan had set on the desk. Ethan looked at it as the headmaster turned it over and saw a script signature amidst the runes: "_Elwyn Bradbury._"

"The dowsing rod would only lead a real Bradbury to this," Flyte said gravely.

Ethan stared at the spear, then looked at Flyte. Neither spoke for a long moment. The wizard in the portrait beamed at Ethan and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Llew?" Flyte said, turning to the portrait.

"If I may say a word, Headmaster?" the old wizard asked deferentially.

"By all means," Flyte replied. Turning back to Ethan, he said, "Ethan, I'd like to introduce your great-great-grandfather, Professor Llewellyn Lloyd."

Ethan's jaw dropped. "Who? You're kidding...er, sir."

Flyte's upper lip twitched. "Not on this occasion, Mr. Lloyd," he said.

Recovering his composure, Ethan turned to the portrait. "Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, young man," Llew Lloyd said. "I'm sorry not to have said hello earlier, but I always felt as though I would have been intruding."

"I did wonder who you were, you know," Ethan said. "Oh, and I have one of your old books now, _Magical Beginnings_."

"My, how odd―that of all my library," Llew exclaimed. "Still, I hope it has proved useful."

"Oh, yes, it's probably why I'm here," Ethan said.

"Good. And I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you. It's wonderful to see you keeping up the family tradition of getting into serious mischief."

Cyrus Flyte was looking at his pocket watch.

"Well, Llew, I would very much like to send Ethan to get himself cleaned up and checked by the nurse," he said. "He has, after all, been through quite an ordeal."

"Will we get to talk again?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, I should think so, if Professor Bancroft doesn't mind," Flyte said.

"Or my sister Eilonwy," Llewellyn Lloyd added. "If you ever want to reach me, I'll be available."

Flyte escorted Ethan to the Infirmary. Burr padded along beside them.

The headmaster was silent. Ethan turned to look up at him as they walked.

"Sir, what sort of mischief did my great-great-grandfather get into?" he asked.

Flyte looked down his long nose, not missing a stride as he answered. "That tale is not mine to tell, Ethan. He was a brilliant teacher. And like his descendants, he only engaged in mischief with good intent. Ah, here we are now."

Flyte opened the door to the Infirmary and Ethan forgot all about Llewellyn Lloyd. For there was Tim, standing, smiling broadly, in fact looking entirely himself. Ethan ran to greet him, but Nurse Abernathy stepped in front of him.

"Not 'til you've been cleaned up, Lloyd," she said.

Ethan looked around and saw Bram Rozema and Jimmy Sprague sitting on the edge of their beds, looking impatient to depart. Mr. Standish had apparently already left, but the Gibsons were sitting around Tally's bed in the far corner.

An hour later, after the nurse had examined him and sent him off to a nice, warm shower, Ethan had changed into fresh clothes and rejoined Tim and Anne. The Gibsons had left, so it was just the three of them again.

"You figured it out!" Tim exclaimed. "I knew you would."

"Not without the clues you left us," Ethan said seriously.

"So you saw the water lynx," Tim said. "What was it like?"

"Awful!" Ethan assured him. "Never want to see another, man. Without Burr, I'd be...well, toast. How 'bout you? What was it like being frozen in time?"

"Not much to say," Tim said. "I couldn't move, after all. And everything around me started moving really fast. And then I blacked out―for days, as it turned out. And this morning I woke up and found you'd fixed everything and I'd missed it."

At this point, Nurse Abernathy came over and told Tim that he was free to leave. So they continued the conversation as they returned to Bradbury Tower.

"Don't know that I fixed _everything_," Ethan said, more out of anxiety than modesty, "Hafgan's still out there."

"But Anne says you've met him now," Tim said. "I mean, when he was our age. You'll know what makes him tick."

"Will I?" Ethan asked. "He seemed a lot like...well, like us, really."

Anne bristled. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, he was a good student, like Tim," Ethan said. "Flyte called him 'Kaaterskill's most outstanding student." And he was an artist―and a good one, too, considering how much of himself he put into that self-portrait. And he seemed fearless, just like you, Anne. But he was missing something, too."

"What's that?" Tim asked.

Ethan thought for a moment as they walked. "I don't think he cared for anyone or anything other than himself. I mean, he hated his own parents because they didn't hate muggles."

"So he wasn't really like us, then," Anne said.

"Definitely not!" Tim agreed, as they approached the Disconcerting Stair. Half way down it on the way up to the dorm, Epaphras Beadle stood looking at them, Manfred the crow on his shoulder.

"Well, it's about time you turned up!" he said. "Came up here to thank you three...especially Mr. Lloyd and Miss Findlay...for setting things right and getting me out of Autongamon." Beadle shuddered as he spoke the name, then thrust a hand out to Ethan. As they shook, he threw his other arm around Tim and Anne. "It's good to be back. Just don't..."

Tim laughed. "We know. Don't let anyone know you're not an evil old crank."

"Oh, don't worry," Anne said. "All we have to do is mention giant, poisonous toads serving students for dinner."

Beadle grimaced. "Well, I'd be just as happy if you didn't mention them, either."

Ethan laughed. "I think we can keep that secret."

"Well, go on, then," Beadle told them. "Your friends will want to see you."

Indeed, the common room welcomed them. Ethan didn't mind at all that Tally, Jimmy and Tim received more attention than did he. They all enjoyed a wonderful feast, made even more wonderful by the Headmaster's announcement that all exams would be cancelled due to "the serious disruptions in the learning process" over the year. Only Tim seemed disappointed―but he got over it. The last week of school was glorious―some teachers held class outdoors, others didn't bother to meet at all. True, the art studio was lonely, bereft of activity, as Swope had packed his things and left within a day. But Ethan spent most of his time outdoors, either rocking on the portico, looking out over the distant Hudson or lazing by the little lake with Tim and Anne. Occasionally he brought his palette, easel and canvas and painted the idyllic mountain top.

Finally the last day of term arrived and with an even bigger Closing Feast. As the crowds of excited students made their way into the Assembly Hall, Ethan felt―for the first time all year―that all was right in his world. The mystery of the Phantom Ship had been solved and Jan van Dam's soul was at rest. Tally and Alex were safe, free once again to irritate their elders. Tim and the others had rejoined the normal flow of time. Simon Brocklebank was disgruntled once more, particularly by the return of Cyrus Flyte to the Headmaster's office. So it was that Ethan looked forward to an especially satisfying feast followed by a relaxing summer at home.

It was, therefore, with some confusion that Ethan and his friends found the Assembly Hall draped in black swags, the lamps dimmed and the atmosphere anything but celebratory. On the wall above the faculty table hung a large portrait of a white-haired wizard who seemed vaguely familiar to Ethan. The frame was wrapped in black gauze; the subject wore a grave look, though his eyes twinkled as if with suppressed merriment.

"What's going on?" asked Marcus.

"Something bad," Ethan said, stating the obvious.

"Who's the guy in the portrait?" Alec asked.

"I've seen that face," Ethan said. "I wish I could remember where. Is he with the Department of Magic?"

"Good lord!" Kenny exclaimed as he came in behind them and took in the scene. "Isn't that...? It couldn't be!"

"Before he could say more, Flyte stood up, flanked by the faculty, all looking uncommonly serious. Professor O'Loughlin appeared to be sobbing and Bancroft dabbed his eyes with a burgundy handkerchief.

"Take your seats, please," Flyte said, his voice weary. As soon as the students were all in their places, he continued.

"I am indeed sorry to spoil what should be a happy sendoff to a fine holiday," the headmaster said. "But I must report the grave and sorrowful news I have had from overseas, which will certainly be in the _Evening Sentinel _as I speak. Early this morning, an act of treachery took from us my great, good friend―the greatest wizard of our age, Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School."

The Assembly Hall rustled with a collective gasp, followed not by the excited chatter that normally accompanied important news, but by an eerie and total silence.

"I need not dwell on Dumbledore's accomplishments and honors, for they are well known and my friend would not have considered them of any great significance. He fought with the forces of light against the darkness that ever seeks to cover our world." Flyte's shock of white hair trembled, the hawk-like nose somehow even more pronounced. "Even this I do not think he considered most important. No, in all his endeavours he was motivated by love of his fellow creatures, whether wizard or muggle, centaur or house elf. It is this love that the forces of evil lack, that they cannot even understand. Voldemort sees only weakness in what is actually our greatest strength."

Flyte paused a moment, sighed and continued in a voice that was clear yet full of emotion.

"We have hitherto stood on the edges of the conflict in which Dumbledore gave his life today. Make no mistake, this will not always be the case. The skirmishes that have touched our lives here at Kaaterskill this year"-here he looked straight at Ethan-"are but portents of what is to come. Evil may come in many guises and it need not always be named Voldemort or Hafgan. It is up to all of us to take up the fight and remember that there is infinite strength in the love that we feel for each other-friends, families, fellow humans, and not least of all, ourselves."

"I must leave you now so that I can travel to Hogwarts and pay respects to my friend on behalf of all here at Kaaterskill. Before I go, I ask that you all raise your glasses with me in remembrance of Dumbledore!"

At this Ethan noticed that they all had long-stemmed glasses filled with a bubbly, golden liquid. He raised the glass and joined with all those around him―students, faculty and staff―in shouting "Dumbledore!" Then he put the glass to his lips and drank: the beverage was delicious, sweet but not cloying, somehow transporting Ethan's thoughts far away. He saw in his mind's eye his parents, Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Eilonwy, Uriel Swope, the image of Dumbledore, and finally the friends around him, Tim and Anne, Tally and Alec, Marcus and Kyle, Professor Flyte and Professor Bancroft, all together, and he realized the truth in Flyte's words. When he had finished the drink, he looked around and he could tell that those around him had had similar visions.

The rest of the feast was a subdued affair, though the food was excellent as ever. Flyte had left immediately after his remarks so Professor O'Loughlin made the end of term announcements and awards. Polite applause greeted the presentation of the Quidditch trophy to Tenskwatawa and the Kaaterskill Cup to Bradbury for the second year running. Ethan and his housemates managed a rousing cheer at the news that Kenny Sturtevant had been named Head Boy for the coming year.

The next morning dawned sunny and warm as the student body prepared for the ride down the mountain to The Landing, where the steamboat _Kaaterskill_ waited to take them back to Hoboken Terminal. As Ethan took one last view from the portico, he thought he could make out the thin wisp of black smoke rising from the steamboat's funnel. He let his thoughts drift back over his second year.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Anne asked from behind him. Ethan shifted to look back at her. Anne was looking at him with something like concern.

Tim stood behind her, taking in the view as well.

"Yeah, it is," Ethan said. "I'll never look at it quite the same way, though."

"The ship?" Tim asked.

"I know I'll never see that again," Ethan averred. "But, yeah, knowing what Van Dam did all those centuries ago, why Bradbury chose this spot and then what Hrothgar and Fagan tried to do here. It's a beautiful place, but a powerful place, too."

"What's going to happen next?" Anne asked.

"Whatever it is," Ethan said. "I'd rather it not follow me home this summer."

"I have a feeling it's following all of us home," said Tim.

"You're probably right, as usual," Ethan said grimly. "Come on, though. It's a nice, sunny day. Let's go to the wagons."

So they descended to The Landing. _Kaaterskill _steamed uneventfully down the Hudson, depositing the students at the old ferry terminal across from the skyscrapers of Manhattan. On the dock, Ethan, Tim and Alec bade farewell to Anne, Marcus, Tally and the others before boarding the westbound _Hoboken Limited_. The next morning the train pulled into Chicago and Ethan and Alec detrained on Platform 99Q.

"See if you can come down again in August," Alec told Tim as the porter helped him off the train.

"I'll see," Tim said. "But it's your turn―and Ethan's―to visit me. Have a good summer, both of you!"

"So long!" Ethan shouted up at Tim as he caught a glimpse of his parents down the platform.

A moment later, Ethan was enveloped in his mother's embrace. When she released him, Griffin settled for a vigorous handshake.

"Well, you look OK!" Diana Lloyd said to Ethan and Alec.

"We are, Mom," Ethan said with a grin. "Although I guess it's true―I've been keeping up the family tradition of getting into mischief."

For a moment, Ethan thought his mother would burst into tears. But his father said, "Just so long as you keep up our tradition of getting out of trouble as well!"

"I'm doing my best, Dad," Ethan said. "Really, I am."

With that the four of them headed down the platform to catch the bus back to summer with the muggles of Madison.

The End

_The story of Ethan's third year at Kaaterskill is told in _

_**Ethan Lloyd and the Year of the Refugees**_


End file.
